The Long Road Home
by hippiechick2112
Summary: Maggie O'Keefe joins Grissom's team a decade after her parents were murdered in Las Vegas in 1991. But why is the murderer from long ago bothering her still? Is he out to kill more people? First story of two in "Target and Assassination".
1. Prologue: January 3, 1991

**_The Long Road Home_**

**Note and Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the character to C.S.I._, _but the character of Maggie O'Keefe DOES belong to me, so if want to use her, please email me with permission. This is, also, a story without the Nick/Greg slash and it's very different. It's VERY cheesy, but I need opinions. Thank you!**

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Prologue: January 3, 1991

_This has been such a great holiday season. I can't believe that she's going away again, so soon_. _But we'll have her back come June and finally be a family, together, again. She'll be happy here, with us, and not with those people she's hated for years._

Las Vegas Officer, Michael J. O'Keefe, stood looking out the tall, lanky windows of his living room out into his backyard, listening to the sounds of Las Vegas beyond his residential neighborhood. His wife Julie was sleeping next to him in the rocking chair that became the highlight of the room, a center spotlight of the skylights above. It was a scene of peace and tranquility, but his world was far from the picture people might peek into.

It was late, around midnight, and their children – ages sixteen, twenty-three and twenty-four, respectively – slept soundlessly upstairs in their bedrooms, all living together because of the need for each other. Their grandson Robert, who had been born just barely two months ago, slept in his portable crib next to him, deaf and motherless. The poor child's mother, his eldest son's wife Helen, ran from the hospital as soon as the child was diagnosed with a hearing-impairment. It had been a day after he was born and the woman was either frightened or angry about the child, running off erratically as soon as she could. Helen was not seen or heard from ever since and her marriage to his son was considered null and void afterward.

The retired Las Vegas cop – still tall, handsome and peppering white in his thick black hair at age fifty-eight – reflected upon the life that he has had to deal with ever since he had met up Julie, the love of his life. As he stood daydreaming at the windows, he pictured the scenes and smiled. He and his wife had met back east, in a Connecticut college, in 1956. She has been the twenty-year-old stubborn, independent woman who had refused all advances and offers of marriage. She wanted to prove, to all at the college and to her very conservative family, that she too could receive a college education and land herself in a career and full-time job. She didn't want to be washing dishes, having children and playing housewife her whole life. She wanted a life of her own.

And Julie did. The equally stubborn and persistent Michael hounded her for years. He even accepted the offer of friendship from her for a while, knowing that it might be all he could get out of her. But he never gave up. It was only after nine years after meeting, and seeing each other through their conflicting careers (Julie had completed her degree in Library Science), that they married and settled down. Later the next year (1965), their first son, Christopher, was born, and the following year it was Eddie. The children kept both parents busy, but it was Julie – who had feared being tied at the house – that took care of them. Michael was constantly working and his income seemed to hold the family together financially.

Their lives, staying conservative, sheltered in a tightly-knitted community and away from the crime that Michael fought, were on the move always, traveling from one state to the next as Michael was promoted and locked to his desk. Julie and Michael were not happy to be moving their sons around constantly, but it had to be done so Michael could have a job. Even though Julie contemplated restarting her career as a librarian, Michael calmed her and reassured her that someday, the family will settle in someplace more stationary. He kept that promise eventually.

It was only after their only daughter, Margaret, was born in 1974 that Michael decided to move as less as possible and try to settle down as chief of police someplace, but it was not to be. In the following short years after Margaret (who preferably dubbed herself Maggie) was born, the family noticed that she had been acting strange, in the sense that it wasn't the conservative norm. A wild personality from the start, the child rose academically by the age of five, but was also highly reclusive. She looked like a normal child, but was small for her age with the same black hair as her brothers and the pale, gaunt features of her mother. But what Michael found that wasn't normal was how she would stay in her room for hours on end, rocking back and forth in Julie's rocking chair, cutting her wrists with any sharp object and not talking or eating for hours. Maggie had never even displayed any of her feelings of affection except on those rare occasions when he or Julie needed help.

_Even then_, Michael thought as he looked back at his sleeping wife,_ she was quiet. It was like she had a life on her own and we were just people who lived in close proximity with her._

Christopher and Eddie had protected Maggie, of course, but it wasn't enough to make her stop this strange behavior. When she started Kindergarten, she was pushed further to the edge. Her teachers had no idea what her problem was, her fellow peers shunned her because she was so strange and every doctor she was taken to could not tell the frantic parents what was wrong with their child. They shrugged their shoulders, explaining that the child might be better locked up. "She might be a danger to society and to her fellow students," one had said, echoing an opinion that a teacher at the school had given to the parents. "It might be best to put her into an institution and be done with it."

_What a nightmare it had been_. Michael remembered the day one of the neighbors suggested that Maggie be tested by a psychologist instead of a regular doctor. He and Julie immediately went in search for one (at the time they were living in San Diego), and when they did find one, they drove Maggie there. What was diagnosed was much worse than they had accepted. Maggie had depression, a "major case", which was explained to Michael as "a chemical imbalance in her brain", etc, etc. It also meant that she had to be admitted to a hospital for examination and schooling. Maggie was to be allowed home for short periods of time. She was not allowed visitors unless there was permission.

Michael remembered the day Maggie was to leave home to the institution: September 14, 1980. It tore Julie apart when she had to separate herself from the silent child, sobbing and saying, "She can't go and she can't leave us!" Michael had to reassure her that it was for Maggie's own good and that she will get better, as he had so many times before.

The final straw came at the airport, where Julie and Michael, both in tears, said goodbye to Maggie. It had, indeed, taken so many attempts to pry the sobbing mother off of the stoic child, but Julie eventually let go. Maggie stood there, stoic still, and just followed the social worker, who took her by the hand and led her to the group ahead. The institution, situated in Portland, Maine, was too far to travel for the parents and they didn't have the money to visit Maggie anytime they could.

Every year afterward, Michael had looked forward to Maggie visiting home and would tell _everybody_ in whatever force he worked with about her and what fun they could have when she came back to whatever home was. He could even count the number of days in his head: the second weekend in March, Maggie's birthday on April sixteenth (it didn't matter what day of the week it was), the last weekend in June, any family day trip in August, Halloween (again, it didn't matter what day of the week it was), Thanksgiving weekend and Christmas vacation, which usually lasted until the Monday after the first weekend in January.

At first, Michael felt as if he, too, would have been sick and clingy for his daughter, but, a week after she left home, he received letters from her and progress reports from her counselors and teachers at the institution. Later, he and Julie were sent pictures of Maggie, drawings she drew of her frustration and reports and projects she created and concepts she mastered as the years went on.

The child was still advanced for her years. Her letters home were, at first, full of dull details of her activities and what she had learned. Her lettering was fully developed and her words too scientific to understand. As the years went on, however, she opened up to her father through these letters and shared her many interests, downgrading her words and talking more of herself and what she loved to do. Maggie surprisingly developed a keen interest in football, cooking, gardening and playing instruments, drawing her notes and then playing favorites songs of her brothers'. She developed into a lovely teenager and lost the pale, thin face of her childhood years. She grew her black hair out and gained enough weight to play football with Eddie and Christopher. Her brothers enjoyed her visits so much and put over her a shell of love she never knew before: brotherly protection and public intimidation when she was threatened.

Michael and Julie were even amazed, as Maggie developed herself outside of her family, that she was growing out of her shell. She had fewer and fewer nights she spent in her room, smaller scratches on his wrists and more times she talked to people, more times she uttered some _noise_. Michael smiled to remember the day, Christmas Day 1985, when Maggie hugged him and Julie and said, "I love you." That night in bed, Julie cried to think that her little girl, the one that had never spoken, had told her parents that she loved them.

But the recent years had brought Maggie home more and more than the usual restricted vacation times because the institution thought her ready. By the end of the school year in June, she was going to transfer and enter a real high school for her senior year in September, something that Michael was looking forward to. Just to picture her in high school was terrific (_Maybe with some friends?_) and to see her in a real cap and gown at her graduation was going to be _amazing_.

Michael's thoughts were suddenly disrupted by a loud noise outside the window he was standing next to, which sounded like a gunshot to him. He jumped and acted quickly, intuitively peering through the windows carefully to the backyard beyond the deck, where the noise was coming from, and saw nothing but the moving shadows from the streets lights and the usual car lights moving to and fro the streets, something not unusual in Las Vegas. Moving from the window and turning to face the other side of the room, he noticed that Julie stirred from her sleep and sat up, taking her feet off the footrest.

"Michael, what was that?" she asked, obviously frightened. Julie always remembered the horror stories of violence in big casino and gambling cities like Las Vegas. She constantly had Maggie shadowed by Christopher and Eddie (who, she was proud, carried brass knuckles and throwing knives just in case of any attacks on her only daughter) when she went out and was always afraid for the safety of her family. She was also eager and enthusiastic on the idea of moving away from the big city and always kept a gun, an heirloom of her family's, beside her at all times. Michael noticed that she even carried it with her indoors and saw it, winking at him on the floor under the rocking chair.

"Nothing, Julie," Michael answered slowly, calmly. "I didn't see anything outside."

Something was not right, though. The family dog, Freckles, usually barked at loud noises like that. The faithful dog, who sat in his doghouse under the oak tree in the backyard by their small creek and bridge, is always sensitive to things such as that. The dog went as far as to watch Maggie above him, who always climbed that oak tree to dizzily heights when she was upset.

Another loud noise outside had Julie jump to her feet. It almost sounded as if it was –

The window shattered as gunshots erupted into the living room.

Michael moved quickly again and pushed his wife to the ground, protecting her from the deadly spray. She started screaming just as Robert woke up to shriek, feeling the vibrations and rolling himself away from the glass. Laying in a fetal position in his crib, the baby stayed on the far end of the crib.

Michael was worried for the child, but he had more pressing matters to attend to. _Who the hell would harass us at this ungodly hour?_ He still stayed over his wife, making sure that she was safe and not hurt by the glass. He knew, however, that if he checked on his grandson, that he himself might be a good target to whoever was outside.

Events conspired quickly enough. Michael, over this entire ruckus, heard footsteps in the house, which were coming down from the front on the house. They were light and quick, so he knew who the person was. He saw, through the window that divided the living room and kitchen, that it was only Maggie, as he had thought previously, crossing over to see what happened.

_Maggie, go back upstairs, stay with your brothers, please go Maggie! _That was Michael could think through this episode, thinking of his daughter's safety and what the hell was going on. Then, he heard her small, childlike voice, a strong indication that she was going to get hit and be a good target to the intruder, "Mom? Daddy? What's –"

The back door, situated in the hallway next to the living room, suddenly collapsed from some extraordinary strength. Maggie, sensing danger as she entered the kitchen, ducked her body in the room and hid herself under the table behind a chair, only catching a small glance of the man who came in, dressed all in black and wearing a dark ski mask. From under the table, she wanted to get a better look at their intruder, but knew that any noise or stupid actions could get her hurt or killed.

But to Maggie, it was worth the gamble for her life, a life that she had to build up because of how she acted and thought. She peered from the chair she was hiding behind, moving as silently as possible so that she couldn't be seen. The man was build like her brothers, muscle-like and heavy. He was tall…swift moving…

He also held a gun.

Maggie felt like she as in slow motion and that the few seconds that pasted were but hours. The man, lifting the safety off his gun, walked towards her parents, who were still stunned on the floor of the living room and covered with glass. Robert was still shrieking in his crib, unaware of what was going to happen next. He still was laid in his corner of the crib.

_Oh no, Robert!_ Maggie thought. But she knew it was too late to save her nephew, or even her parents for that matter. Maggie closed her eyes as she heard some fighting, screaming and struggle and then noise: one…two…three…four shots. There was silence.

Maggie still kept her eyes closed.

She heard footsteps…she felt the chair in front of her move…she sensed somebody standing over her, she couldn't tell who it was. What it the killer? Was it her parents who might be alive, her brothers here to save her from this nightmare? Whoever it was, he or she seemed to whisper a simple phrase, something that would haunt Maggie for many more years to come. "I'll come back for you."

It was all Maggie could remember before she passed out completely. She let the darkness take her over.


	2. Las Vegas, 2003

It seemed like forever – even though it had been years – that Maggie had been in Las Vegas. Indeed, it had almost been a decade since she stepped foot in Sin City.

Maggie stood in front of her parents' old home, the one that she had lived before college, and savored the moments before her much-awaited reunion with her brothers Christopher and Eddie and nephew Robert…no, wait, he liked _Robbie _better (he signed it to her the last time she saw him). Well, she hadn't seen them since her graduation a few years ago (majored in forensics and chemistry and minored in library sciences, worked in the toughest cities and the quietest libraries).

Maggie had wanted people to think that she moved back to Vegas to settle some scores with her older brothers and to help to raised Robbie. In truth, she was scared into coming back. True, she did owe them so much, after their parents' murder only twelve years ago. However, in her last place was residence, she was threatened that something would happen to her surviving family if she didn't come back, and that got Maggie to run and pack her bags and come back. Not only was there _that_ scare. Plus, there was that phone call she received from Eddie last month that had persuaded her into coming back even more and working for the Las Vegas Forensics Department. She was living in Charleston, South Carolina then and working in _their_ forensics department for about a year and a half as a C.S.I. level 3 when both the letter and the phone call came in. Before, she was in New York City, Hartford, Augusta and Miami.

"Maggie, listen, things here are going insane. Chris has no control over Robbie and Robbie is becoming more like what you used to be." _What I used to be? I don't remember being as such_. "Chris also needs an extra hand in taking care of him. Robbie has had no mother figure and maybe, you could help. I mean, you're the only one around who can sign to him. I can sort of do it, like I ask him to do the dishes and stuff, but still…" Eddie trialed and left the situation at that. Maggie left hopeless in the problem, but answered anyway.

"Listen, Eddie, I'll _try_. I'll have to then balance work, play mother and investigate the case. I'll come as soon as I can though." Maggie hung up immediately afterward (Eddie knew better to call her back if she did such), feeling like she had a pit in her stomach. The note that she received the other day, the person who wished ill feelings to her family if she didn't come back, was tucked into the napkin holder with the other bills, a constant reminder that some things needed to be left untouched. It was the contamination of her honor.

The case, as Eddie knew, was their parents' unsolved murder. As she graduated college, Maggie had asked the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department permission to investigate any leads as to who the killer is. The response had been negative for a while because she was personally close to the victims and was a witness and a suspect for a time. But it wasn't until C.S.I. Gil Grissom, who had originally investigated the now cold case with veteran detective Jim Brass, contacted her and, after reviewing the evidence and her initial statement, went through every connection he had to help her. And just like that, _presto_! Maggie got the chance to work on the case because of personal dedication and insight. Of course, she had to gather the evidence in the boxes at the department later and, just by going back to the scene of the crime, could collect some more. Renovations have been done at the house, but there still might be something in the old walls and windows that rained down upon the Gothic structure.

Maggie came back from her daydreams and thoughts and tipped her head to one side, thinking about that call…and how she was going to approach her old home. Should she knock, ring the doorbell or even pop her head in? In her strange thoughts, she was interrupted by the door opening.

And there was Eddie, looking at her.

"Maggie! So good to see you again!" he yelled. He opened the screen door and flung his way out, Robbie and Christopher behind him. Maggie felt as overwhelmed as all three hugged her. The two muscular men and the small boy almost left her breathless, it was that bad.

In the doorway stood a blonde woman, who introduced herself as Grace, Eddie's fiancée. Maggie noticed her through the hugs and saw how misplaced the woman was. _I gotta make her feel as welcome as possible. Knowing my brothers, they made her feel uncomfortable. Even that, they would have told her everything and she's upset about it._

After they all let go, there was an awkward silence. Robbie stood there, still shy and not at all like the small Maggie as Eddie had mentioned beforehand. He did look like his mother Helen, though: his mushroom cut was full of the same mousy brown hair, the eyes were the same blue and the small, pale figure was the distraught Helen in the last months of her pregnancy.

"How have you been?" Robbie signed to Maggie.

"I'm great, what about you? How's school?" Maggie signed back quickly. Both her brothers gave her annoyed faces as Robbie smiled and continued to signal his reply. It meant that the two were not privy to the conversation, which was something Maggie knew irritated them both.

"Not as great as I though it was going to be," Robbie answered. "It's always dull here, not enough fun things to do. School is boring."

Maggie tipped her head back to laugh. She knew that her nephew was having some problems, but she needed to laugh about something silly. Sometimes, she needed the candid truth and it made her laugh to hear it, at last.

Before Robbie could smile and "talk" more, Christopher motioned at her. "Oh, Maggie, remember Gil Grissom? He called for you an hour ago. He wanted to know if you'd join his motley crew of misfits. He said to meet him at the department whenever you could. He also said to call ahead when you do, so that he knows and can schedule something in."

Maggie went numb for no reason. _"Join his motley crew of misfits"?_ _What is Chris' problem today? Well, what are BOTH of their problems today?_

"Sure," she answered, picking her bags up all too quickly and heading inside. "I'll call him later."

Maggie's abrupt answer and actions alarmed her family, especially at such a happy occasion as returning to Vegas after so many years. His brothers gave quizzical looks once more as she went in, almost bumping into Grace on the way inside. She, like the shy Helen, had learned quickly from this exchange to make room for her future sister-in-law. Shrugging her shoulders, she went inside, a signal for the brothers to do the same.

Robbie shortly afterward, and with glee, went after Maggie, signaling that he wanted a game of chess with her later, as he had learned it that week and wanted to challenge his aunt.

As the bouncy child thumped up the stairs after his aunt, a sinister feel came through Maggie and her body shuddered. Although she ignored it, it still would not leave her. Not one to be religious and suspicious, Maggie continued to suppress it, hiding it as if she was ashamed of it, as she unpacked her things in her old room and went to play with Robbie. But someone or something was making her frightened, even as she took the chess board out of the upstairs hall closet. It followed her downstairs even, dragging through the house and seating itself next to the players.

The electrician, one that Maggie's brothers had hired to fix her room's lights, came out from Maggie's room as she left it with Robbie, smiling at this tête-à-tête with the family. He watched Maggie earlier as she unpacked, not saying a word as she worked around the man. His cap had slid down his large face.

Baggy clothing hid his body – large, obnoxiously muscle-ridden – very carefully. His presence was not quite wanted anyhow, if they knew of his identity, but he wanted the answers to the questions he needed. And the price he already paid was worth the information. His friends were in high places. He didn't need to a tool in anyone else's plots and schemes, but his own.


	3. Nightmares

"_I'll come back for you" was all she could hear after the horrifying shots, one after another…_

"No!" Maggie sat up too quickly from her bed, sweat pouring down from her face. _Oh, Jesus Christ, it's just that nightmare again_, she thought. She looked at the digital clock behind her, an ancient piece of history from her days in the institution, and noted the time. It was almost four-thirty in the morning, four twenty-six, to be precise.

This was strange to the young woman. Maggie always had that nightmare when she was thinking of her parents, especially at that moment, but this was when the case for their murderer was just getting on the ball. She wasn't quite thinking about the dark, horrifying days after the murders even. She was determined to close the cases.

Grissom always asked her beforehand and especially on the phone the day before even, "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

And always, without a piece of hesitation in her voice, Maggie gave the enthusiastic "Yes!" She was so sure about solving the cases, it became an obsession to her.

_I'm just not sure I'm really ready for the real thing now. Is trying to solve the cold case of my parents' murder the right thing to do?_ She thought about it some more. _Maybe Grissom's right. This case should be led by somebody else, because it hits too close to home. It's too personal. Then again, who was there? Who else heard the shots? Who was the closest in seeing the killer and knowing what he looked like, body-wise? Who would want to investigate this again, anyhow, but me? I can't be used as a material witness, but I can piece everything together, if I can only do it myself._

Maggie then flashed back and remembered all too quickly what had followed after the murder: the pain of staying for all those interrogations from Jim Brass and the rest of the detectives, not to mention, Ecklie…high school, being molested by a tall, beefy kid, who sat in front of her in most of her classes. What was his name? _Oh, yes, it was Jason Napolitano…that asshole._

Even her schoolwork almost suffered, but Maggie somehow managed to keep herself on top. She went as far as to accuse the kid who molesting her and she suffered for it again, except his friends followed the mousy teen. She tried to erase that first memory form her mind, but that day in the janitors' closet hurt her still, alone and frightened. She was grabbed so quickly from her line to class…pushed to a corner in the closet where she would be trapped and not being able to move…threatened to be beaten further if she said anything…screaming bloody murder…

Maggie shook her head. _Those days are over, girl. Over on and try to handle the task on hand: getting back to Grissom and seeing about that job. You may be closer to that than you expect. I mean, Las Vegas has the second slot C.S.I. department. Why not try? You're considered one of the best in the field. Now, HOW many articles did you write or were featured in? It might not matter to you, but in the world, it does._

Maggie lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes. _Is this coming to a close though? If not, when will it?_

It was the last thing she thought of before losing herself to another disturbed sleep.


	4. Reunions and Beginnings

It was about two-thirty in the afternoon before Maggie had been able to see Grissom. He had been working overtime on a case and was just closing it, coming back from dropping off a report, as he saw Maggie sitting silently and quite stiffly in his office, where she was directed by one of the lab techs to wait. He looked surprised for a minute, and then smiled. "'If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant. If we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome,'" he said. Maggie noticed a file under his arm.

_That sounds like the Grissom I remember._ "Anne Bradstreet?" Maggie asked, turning around and becoming more skeptical about what Grissom had said. She also remembered him constantly quoting and quizzing almost. It was just another way of greeting people, she guessed. _Most likely the case even_, she thought.

Maggie even took a good look at Grissom, who had aged slightly in the decade she had last seen him. He still kept his baby face and his hair was greyer, although he looked to be growing a beard. _That doesn't look like him, quite. It doesn't look right._

Grissom, meanwhile, gave her no answer but smiled, so Maggie guessed that she was correct in her assumption.

"How have you been?" Maggie tried to make the conversation as normal as possible, but with Grissom's silence, it was awkward. Maggie then followed, with her eyes, as Grissom walked and seated himself at his desk and rested his file in his hands. He still held it there and was staring at her intently and not its contents (they were yet to be opened), as if studying her just like his insects, which were stuck hung on the walls and around the office, the one that used to be Jim Brass's, if Maggie remembered right.

Maggie's eyes again followed Grissom as he, still unvoiced, sat there. After a while, she grew nervous and when she finally could not take it anymore (it had been ten minutes of silence, she knew), Grissom dropped the file, which made a satisfying _slap_ on his desk. He got quickly into business, opening the file, reading some of it and looking up at Maggie again. "Level 3 C.S.I., yes?"

"Yes," Maggie answered with some nervousness in her voice.

"It says here you graduated with Honors at Yale, Southern Connecticut State University and later, Sienna. I don't think this is up-to-date, for it says here you worked in Miami, New York and Hartford and Augusta between the years 1997 and 2001. What happened in the past two years?"

Maggie squirmed in her chair, forgetful of the time a few minutes ago when she felt so stiff in the chair, trying to keep her nervous feelings at bay. She already felt a disgusting lump in her throat. _Or was that the burning taste of vomit?_ "I don't why they didn't update my file, but from June 2001 until earlier this month, I've been in Charleston, South Carolina. Augusta's department sent me there after I was promoted. They thought that I was capable enough of upping, so to speak, their reputation, through my experience on the field and in the lab."

"Ah." Grissom emerged himself back into the file and then fired another question as he looked up once more. "How much experience in the field did you get?"

Maggie stood back in attention that time and shot back her answer. _This certainly feels like a game of cat and mouse_, she thought. "At first, as a lab tech, I was more observant and piecing the facts together rather than finding the evidence that was handed to us. After I was transferred from Miami, I was in Hartford, where the department headed me in investigations because of the promising prospects I had. As I developed more, they allowed me solve the pieces of mysteries myself. Well, it was on a smaller scale, like single murders and robberies."

Maggie smiled at the memories of Al "Heartless" Rookery, the head detective in Hartford, helping her interrogate suspects and potential murderers and thieves. Maggie shook her head about the fate of the detective – fired for charges in misusing his position – and continued. "Afterward, I went as they promoted me. Personal issues have brought me back here." Maggie most certainly didn't want to tell him about that note either…_yet_.

"How have your issues been dealt before, during and after college?" Grissom looked at her with especial worry, so Maggie knew what he was talking about. She sighed; she had been expecting this question too.

Yes, how _had_ her depression been dealt with before, during and after she majored in forensics? "I continued therapy up until the beginning of my senior year of high school and afterward, I had talked with social workers," Maggie reassured Grissom. "During college, psychologists were available to me, although I have had few occasions when I needed them. I had not been cutting myself lately and by the time I was twenty, they – the psychologists and the states of New York and Connecticut, I mean – put me off suicide watch. I've been off it ever since."

_Pigs_, Maggie thought as she twisted her arms slightly to show Grissom the light scars of her childhood. _They don't know anything. _Indeed, there had not been anything recent, just the small welts of her past. Grissom stared at them for a split second, trying not to appear troubled.

"Have there been any other episodes the past decade?" was Grissom's next question. It seemed, to Maggie, that Grissom didn't want to get off the subject of her depression. This is one of the top departments in the country, after all. _He just wants to make sure everything's all right and that he didn't need to worry about me. Grissom's concerned in his own way_.

"There have been _very_ few minor incidents where I spent a day not eating and not talking to anyone," Maggie answered, almost sighing with frustration at the interview. "Once, I became too involved in a case, in New York, because a co-worker was killed. Otherwise, nothing major has happened."

Maggie was vague about her co-worker and best friend, almost shuddering to remember Jackie Polsen, the beautiful Asian woman who was also her upstairs neighbor. Jackie, as Maggie remembered, was shot once in the back and once in the head, her apartment in total shambles with no evidence in sight. Witnesses heard a gunshot outside the building before she was killed and were about to call the police when they heard more shots and then, an apartment door open. Jackie had been killed by a stalker in her apartment and it almost killed Maggie herself, especially when she learned it was still a cold case. Her murderer is still at large and not caught yet, but the New York police have some DNA on file.

Grissom closed her file. "Everything is in order. You know your way around the place. Your office is beyond this hall, to the right. Report here every night, including tonight, before or at eleven. Don't lug any overtime and don't mess with Ecklie." Grissom got up from his seat, took her file with him and left his office as if there was an offense in Maggie being in his office, other than the interview they had.

"I'll call the Charleston department and ask for your file," Grissom called over his shoulder as he left and disappeared in a sea of lab techs, C.S.I.s and detectives. Maggie got up to follow him, but as soon as she came in the hallway, she, too, became lost in that same sea that constantly roamed the halls of the department.

Conrad Ecklie, as Maggie remembered as she walked the aquamarine-colored walls of the C.S.I. Headquarters searching for her office, was in charge of the daytime shift in Las Vegas. He was more politically oriented than Grissom, often dealt with the media and the higher powers in a manner much approved of and often got into arguments with Grissom about everything.

She remembered it too well, for they had argued about her parents' case when they investigated it all those years ago. Ecklie thought that, as the retired police chief, Michael O'Keefe and his wife's case should be kept quiet for Las Vegas' economy and its main import: tourists. Besides, Ecklie had thought that the murder would lower the already-low morale of the police force. Grissom, on the other hand, wanted to keep it down, but didn't care for the influx of people who came into Sin City. He understood about how the Las Vegas Police Department was deeply affected by the murders, but made sure to use officers that would not hinder and/or compromise the case.

Not to mention, Ecklie also had _major_ issues with Maggie because she was depressed and not talking. He thought it had been a sure sign of her guilt in the murders.

_Why bring up something as stupid as that? And why, of all the things, did Ecklie accuse me of killing my parents? I mean, I was depressed, but you know, I'm not as cold as that!_ _I think any person would be that teary and quiet when their parents were murdered in the next room, within their eyesight, and their killer was not found._

The evidence went against Maggie anyway, according to Grissom. The person who unhinged the door could not have been someone with as small as structure as Maggie's when she was a teenager (a little over five feet and less than a hundred pounds). She didn't own a gun, but her parents had. Of course, there were no others found other than her mother's heirloom and the one Michael always carried around at work. Both had G.S.R., but not recent. The hairs and pieces of black clothing found on the scene didn't match her hair or any of her clothing at all (DNA wasn't really available then) and, with her brothers as witnesses, the court threw out her case just as soon as Ecklie brought it to them.

It was a debt that Maggie could never repay Grissom and his team, but thought that by giving her best to the Vas Vegas team, she could do something for Grissom and ignore Ecklie the rest of the time.

_It serves him right, too!_ Maggie thought as she continued to walk the crowded halls. She didn't savor her deep feelings of revenge for long, though, and was soon too lost in her thoughts. She didn't watch where she was going, and just as she was about to turn to her empty office, she hit someone with body-to-body contact. Papers flew everywhere. And before anyone knew it, more people rammed in her from behind and the person she bumped into. _Traffic must be brutal here!_ _Stupid people don't watch where they're going_, Maggie thought as she started grabbing papers, regaining her balance. The people behind her had recovered from their falls, as she immediately had, but did not help her in the quest to grab the thin razors traveling in the air.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry, I really am! Are you all right?" Maggie yelled through the chaos that ensued. Some person with strawberry blonde hair, the one that rammed into her from behind, was finally helping her gather papers (a second thought), but the person she bumped into was sitting against the wall, rubbing his head. Others ignored the engagement.

"Damn, woman, you pack quite a punch!" the person against the wall said. It grabbed Maggie's attention immediately. His Texas draw was what attracted her the most. Otherwise, he was tall if he stood up. He had dark hair, was shaven and had brown eyes that seem to be like a pond to swim in. He smiled at Maggie as he stood up and she felt like she was going to melt with shame or shyness (she could not tell). She smiled back and, through an armful of papers, put out her hand so that he could get back on his feet again. He took it and held into it for a few seconds.

"Ahem." The person who helped to clean up the papers cleared her throat and held out her right hand to Maggie. She let go of the person's hand and took the other's outstretched hand. "I'm Catherine Willows. You must be Margaret O'Keefe."

"Maggie, please." She shook Catherine's hand, noting her coolness in the situation, but Maggie's attention was readily back to the other she knocked into. She practically ignored this…Catherine Willows. _God, he is so cute…if I hadn't bumped into a cuter person_, she thought, but dismissed her thoughts as puerile and hormonal.

"I'm Nick, by the way," he said, trying to get her attention upon seeing her dazed. Maggie laughed, so confused that two people are competing for her attention. Catherine gave her a weak smile and handed the papers back to Nick, who was picking up the folder they were in.

"Next time, Nick, you'd better run into someone less cute," Catherine teased, echoing Maggie's thoughts almost exactly, as she left the pair. "Maybe she might pay lesser attention to you the next time and vice versa."

Nick smiled and shook his head, obviously used to the teasing. As he stuffed the papers back into the folder again, Maggie watched him, with such precision and skill, organize. He was obviously amused – happy? – by this last comment. Maggie could not tell.

"Do you want some help?" Maggie asked, trying not to make it obvious that she had teenaged feelings for him.

"Huh? Oh, sure, the pages are all numbered, so just try to put them in order," Nick said. He didn't even look back up at Maggie. His focus was more on organizing the papers than anything else.

_Girls could obviously wait_, Maggie thought strangely and with some hilarity.

Maggie picked up the remaining pages she scattered and smiled. _Yes, there is going to get some getting used to. And who, might I add, is this Nick character? I like him already._


	5. First Night Working

_I open my eyes  
I try to see but I'm blinded by the white light  
I can't remember how  
I can't remember why I'm lying here tonight  
And I can't stand the pain  
And I can't make it go away  
No, I can't stand the pain..._

_How could this happen to me?  
I make my mistakes  
I've got nowhere to run  
The night goes on as I'm fading away  
I'm sick of this life  
I just wanna scream  
How could this happen to me?_

_Everybody's screaming  
I try to make a sound, but no one hears me  
I'm slipping off the edge  
I'm hanging by a thread  
I wanna start this over again  
So I try to hold onto a time  
When nothing mattered  
And I can't explain what happened  
I can't erase the things that I've done, no I can't!_

_How could this happen to me?  
I make my mistakes  
I've got nowhere to run  
The night goes on as I'm fading away  
I'm sick of this life  
I just wanna scream  
How could this happen to me?_

It was about six in the morning. Maggie was listening to the radio at random, playing with the search button constantly, when this song popped up. It was left on. She didn't dare to turn the knob any further, entrapping her mind into the song by a band usually admired by teenagers. She almost felt as if she was reliving the past again, but tried shaking it off with no success.

Maggie dimly remembered being "put away" when she was seven, but could recall clearly all those people in the white coats putting needles in her arms and stroking her hair and someone coming into her room in the darkness. The song zoned her into that time in her life and she almost froze with fear while she was driving. She shook her head as she neared the traffic light, stopping when it turned red, and tried to blank her mind and space out with the next song that popped on.

After all, Maggie was already heading for some coffee after a long night shift, invited, by all people, Nick Stokes. She had met the rest of the crew (Warrick Brown, Sara Sidle, Doc Robbins, Greg Sanders, Jim Brass and some others she couldn't remember) and solved her first case with Grissom, who had called her go to with him. There was a bank robbery, first processed by the day shift team, with a female victim in her late thirties. The robber was just one of the bank tellers (disguised) and he had killed someone at the wrong place at the wrong time. His gun went off accidentally as he threatened the witnesses.

_He ran from the scene and didn't come back until questioned as he came for his shift in the daytime._ Maggie sorted out the scenario in her mind, even if she wasn't supposed to until the evidence was all in. _And when someone identified him as someone as the same build as the shooter, he fessed up. He was so nervous about everything that his demeanor even said guilt. All we had to do for Ecklie was sort the evidence and give a verdict before Jim Brass could make an arrest._

Maggie paused in her thoughts. _I guess it's all in a good day's work._

Jim Brass was someone Maggie recalled from a long time ago, the seasoned cop from times past. Of course, he, too, remembered her, from when her family lived in New Jersey (briefly). Brass even made it a point to bother her and mention old times, in an indirect way. This time, Maggie was filing something away for the robbery case when she heard that familiar voice. The room had been deserted otherwise. "Ah, it's Margaret Jane O'Keefe. Long time no see."

Maggie turned around and gave the homicide detective a blank stare. Of course she remembered Jim Brass. He was always butting heads with her father, but they always got along well and worked out their differences enough to solve cases. Then again, she was hiding behind her father's legs often as he tried to introduce her to the people he worked with.

Maggie could only recall Brass being an ass to her father at times, but also his kindness to him as well. His daughter Ellie was sometimes there and the two cops had tried to have their daughters play together and be friends. On both sides of the aisle was there no interest. Ellie was otherwise interested in other things (and staying away from her father as much as possible) and Maggie was not interested in friends just then.

Staring at an older Brass, Maggie saw a strain in the detective's face, as if he's seen everything, but still said nothing. Brass critiqued her expressions and said, "Don't you remember me, Margaret?" His question was innocent, gentle, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Maggie smiled, causing a light to come across the detective's face, if there is such thing as that (Maggie figured that the expressions were pretty close). Sighing, she answered, already feeling an embarrassing incident come about. "If you remember correctly, _Captain_, it is Maggie. And, yes, I remember you. But even if you kept me in mind for all those years, you'll know that I don't use my first name. And you should know what happens when such people call me that."

Giving a puzzled Brass a smile, as if saying hello to a friend of long ago, Maggie left. She knew Brass took it as a greeting from her.

Maggie's thoughts were more of Nick Stokes, however, than of the incident with Brass. Nick was sweeter than most of those around the lab and didn't treat her like the newbie everyone thought she was. While they worked through A.F.I.S., the fingerprint database, she started talking to him randomly about where she came from, her family and her hopes and dreams for the future, something she never dared to tell anyone else. She couldn't talk to him about her depression and how it felt to be _controlled_.

In turn, Nick did the same and was as vague as she was (except more heartfelt and much more emotional than Maggie), discussing how he lived and worked in Dallas before coming to Vegas to establish his own roots. Nick had six siblings and was the youngest, but he felt as if he had to live up to them and to their parents, who instilled in them a sense of direction, work ethic and character.

Maggie was thinking how honest Nick was with her, telling her all about his life in Dallas and then moving to Vegas, and then decided to talk about her family some more when the opportunity came. Nick had even asked her about her nephew, Robbie, when she mentioned him again.

Maggie responded despondently. "I guess I'm giving in too much hope about Robbie, though," she said to Nick about her nephew before A.F.I.S. hit a match. "I mean, he was so enthused that I'm living here and that he can see me again, but things are just _not_ right. Chris is just…I don't know, he loves the kid, but sometimes I think he can't control him. I know this after spending two days here…already."

"Bingo," Nick answered without looking back at Maggie, as A.F.I.S. caught his attention more than anything else.

"Bingo? What kind of answer is _that_?" Maggie peered over her shoulder from her seat and saw A.F.I.S. flashing colors at her and Nick. Nick's face seemed bathed in it.

"Bingo, as in, we caught our robber," Nick replied simply.

Maggie smiled at the memory as she drove on, trying to concentrate on the other members of the team, but somehow failing. She remembered Grissom, though, and it was possibly because of the familiarity she felt with him, if that was possible. So, even Grissom, who's usually very stoic and a workaholic (so Maggie thinks), passed by and seemed to have smiled, but Maggie couldn't be sure. Nothing can be so sure with Grissom and she can't assume what he does.

One of Grissom's famous lines, as he lectured Maggie in the car on the way to the bank to investigate the robbery and killing, was "Don't assume, for it makes an ass out of you and me."

The other, as Maggie heard Grissom say before, was "Concentrate on what cannot lie: the evidence."

That past night, though, she wanted to remember _everything_ about this Nick Stokes fellow. She didn't want to think about her parents or even her brothers and Robbie.

_Today seems to be my day_, Maggie thought as she pulled in to the diner and saw Nick walking towards the entrance of the diner. He waved her down as she parked, indicating that he was there and waiting for her at the door. _Oh, not even Robbie…I'll talk to him when I get home_.


	6. Finding the Evidence

It was about two months before Maggie was about to walk down the corridor of evidence boxes and find her parents'. The months, those that had prevented her from working on the case, had been filled up with the night shift, catering to Robbie and making sure he went on the bus on weekdays and talking to Eddie and Chris about the case.

Maggie thought the people in the lab (other than Grissom, Jim Brass and Nick Stokes) hated her. She worked on a case with just about everyone, and every time she searched for that same compassion or soft friendship Nick had given her since day one, she found nothing, not even a word or two of anything. _Is this because I'm new?_ Maggie thought, but she didn't think so, doubting it. She already nagged at Warrick Brown about a case two nights previously (first about where the evidence was, if all was collected and if he came up with anything yet), at that point, when she asked for directions to Greg's cubby (she had already forgotten where it was) so that she could drop off some DNA evidence from a stripper case. His answer, after giving her a wide-eyed look, was a snappish "And why do you need me to direct you there? You've been here for a few months."

Worst of all, to Maggie's ears, was that Eddie and Chris were hesitant in letting her run wild on the case. Maggie knew that they were severely hurt and scarred by the incident just as she was, but to let their forensics-loving sister take over the case was too much. They needed the space and to let the matter rest.

They were all in the living room when the two brothers confronted her about everything. Maggie was starting to investigate every nook and cranny of the room and was trying to concentrate while they talked. The lanky windows of long ago were gone and replaced with regular ones with a semi-circle window on top on a middle one in a set of three. The rocking chair was gone and so was the carpeting, so evidence was going to be slim.

_Dammit, why did they have to get rid of everything?_ Maggie thought as she pushed and heaved the old couch aside. It was the same one that they owned twelve years ago, so that might have something other than the dogs' fur and their vomit under it. That could be slim too, because it had been cleaned on the outside.

Eddie started as Maggie took her flashlight out and began to search meticulously for anything that might lead to something. "Listen, Maggie, this is painful enough that you have to open the case again. It's unsolved, they're dead and there isn't anything you or anybody else can do to bring them back. They both were good parents, trying to raise us and Robbie and then someone shoots them. Isn't it enough that they're dead? Are you that cold to reopen even your own nightmares?"

Maggie stopped searching the couch, coming out with her flashlight (she had found some black cloth, ashy residue and animal hair and vomit, but bagged nothing yet) and turned to face her brothers. She was panting already from moving furniture, and at the moment, something as trivial as that bothered her._ Jesus Christ, why are they bothering me like that?_

"We hear you screaming at night sometimes," Chris added, "and you don't take your medication. You haven't even asked us about it or considered our feelings on anything. Maggie, it _is_ weird enough that you're into forensics, and it's all fine and dandy, but please think of yourself. Is this really an interest or an urge to bag the scumbag that killed our parents?" His dark eyes, like Eddie, were red-rimmed and full of worry. He continued to look edgy and even cracked his overly-large knuckles.

Maggie shrugged her shoulders and went back under the couch to bag what she found. She set it aside, moving the couch back to where it was before. She knew that, before she forgot and started to rant, it was the most important to bag, seal and then tell. And she wanted the last word and to end it quickly.

She sighed. "Well, first of all, you know that I have been interested in everything ever since I was 'developing' and this has sparked my imagination for years," Maggie defended herself. "Secondly, what's wrong with this dedication to solving this murder? All right, granted, this is strange, but I was _there_. Who else could have known or even remembered the killer? All the neighbors remember seeing is a person in black who happened to be tall and muscular. I saw a closer figure and something…_more_."

Maggie took the bagged evidence from there, confident that it might help (except for the dog fur and vomit, of course), and got up, heading out the door as she grabbed her purse and car keys from the back hallway. "I have to head back to the lab anyway," she said over her shoulder as her brothers watched her disrespect in amazement. "And I don't scream at night. I take my medication like I'm supposed to."

~00~

It had only taken Maggie a little less than an hour to get back to headquarters, drop the evidence bags off to Greg, the local lab rat, and hit the corridors of unsolved cases. It had been downstairs in the basement of the Las Vegas Criminalists' Building. However, it had also had taken Maggie twenty minutes to find the correct hallway. She had finally broken down and asked the nearest person, Catherine, and got her directions.

Catherine had started to warm up to Maggie and was often more polite than the rest of the C.S.I.'s (and much more intelligent). She was able to point the new C.S.I. where it was (she even asked Maggie to join her and her daughter Lindsey for dinner, but she had to decline because Robbie had an appointment that night and she needed to be there) and even smiled at her.

Nevertheless, to Maggie, it was a step closer to finding the killer. _Hopefully it'll help,_ she thought as she walked the hallways and went downstairs. _Chris and Eddie can kiss my ass. If they don't like it, then fine. They can stay out of the case altogether and keep their little hands in front of their faces, not knowing where to turn to next. If they want to open their minds up a bit, then fine._

There wasn't much in her parents' evidence box, she remembered. It was only the bullets that killed them (there had been four of them, two in her mother's head and two in her father, one in the head and the other in the back), the pieces of black cloth that had been caught in the broken doorway, pieces of the doorway (mostly screws), pictures of the crime scene, records of the fingerprints found on the scene and some other odds and ends. Yet, nothing matched with anybody and A.F.I.S. wasn't even available to them then. Not even computers were common in 1991.

_Some luck back then. How did they solve murders?_ Maggie pondered as she searched, shelf after shelf, for the O'Keefe box, but finding nothing. _Well, with Grissom, you have much more. He may not have been able to solve _this_ case, but he deducted a lot through reasoning and logical thinking._

It was difficult to find the evidence book, for everything was almost out of order and dusty, despite it all being in alphabetical order, like nobody had bothered to come down to the basement in years to organize anything. Maggie walked down the long hallways, trying to figure out where things were, and finally found what aisle she wanted, or so she thought. Walking down that, however, proved to be the wrong way (another dead end with nowhere else to turn) and she turned around again, searching.

After what seemed like an eternity searching for the evidence box and running into too many dead ends, Maggie heard footsteps. She saw, behind her as she walked inanely, a shadow at the end of the aisle she was working on and looking through. Maggie didn't bother to look at who it was, but just assumed the worst – being cornered without a sense of direction on where to escape. Her heart started to race. Before she knew it, her legs worked the ability to move faster, dropping what she was holding (dust?), but the figure behind her moved faster. Whoever it was that was running ran fast, if not faster, than Maggie herself.

Maggie sprinted for the nearest doorway (_Where is it?_) and sensed the figure was close behind her as she neared it. She stopped, turned around, eyes closed to who it was, and almost jumped to tackle the figure when it caught her from the front. The person caught her mid-tackle and had a fight with Maggie, who was struggling until she heard the person yell, "Mercy, woman! Who's to kill a nice guy like me?"

Maggie stopped struggling and turned to find a confused Nick Stokes as she opened her eyes.

Maggie dropped her defenses and closed her eyes again, embarrassed. "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry. I thought…my God, I'm sorry, Nick." Her eyes were almost filling with tears. She could have hurt him and gotten suspended for fighting or, worse, taken off the force because she couldn't control her emotions. She knew that her panic went first and not her reason. _Maybe I should take my medication more_._ The dosage is right, though._

"No, hey, it's ok." Nick let Maggie go and stared at her, still puzzled over her tears. "Don't cry. Hey, it's all right. Don't worry about it. It's a natural reaction from someone like you. But say, what's a nice girl like you doing down here, anyway? Did you get lost this time? Warrick tells me you do that all the time and can't remember where everything is."

"No," Maggie answered truthfully, incredulous that Warrick Brown ever mentioned anything about her, considering that he snapped at her all the time. "I was just looking for an evidence box. Grissom told me that I can come down here. It's just, I know that it's down here something, but I can't find it anywhere."

Nick's bewildered face turned blank and then skeptical when he heard the answer. "You're looking for an evidence box? What for? Wait, Grissom gave you permission to be here? Really? Come on, who really gave you permission to be down here?" Nick then held his hand up, as if he wanted Maggie to stop something, but was somewhat doubting her word as a new C.S.I. "Wait, I want one answer at a time. I want the answer to the first."

Maggie looked to the floor, embarrassed. Could she trust Nick enough not to spread the word about her parents' murder? _Could he be trusted altogether?_ He had been sweet so far, so she took a gamble. _Las Vegas is full of that. _"Grissom actually allowed me down here to search for an evidence box. It's a murder from twelve years ago." Maggie thought it safe at the moment to not say whose murder it was, so she was vague.

It wasn't enough to satisfy the curious Nick. It was the truth and he saw it, but he knew that Maggie was hiding something.

Nick picked Maggie's head up and held it by her chin. He looked into her eyes, trying to find something more. "Why do you need to find a cold case, though? It is anything that relates to a case now? I didn't hear anything unless I missed something. Usually, I don't. Word travels pretty fast here."

"No," Maggie answered back too quickly, but she couldn't be sure if the murderer struck again or could be formulating a plan. She couldn't assume anything nor could she take any chances with the killer, either. She _had_ to find that box.

Maggie turned away from Nick, breaking from his grip, and headed back through the endless shelves, back to the one she was working on, with Nick followed her again, trying to get a clearer and more detailed response from her. As she walked, she felt Nick's hand grab her arm, trying to get her attention again. He had, apparently, followed her for a reason.

"Then, what is it?"Nick was stubborn in his insistence on finding out what was bothering her into finding a box of evidence from a cold case.

Maggie wasn't really paying any attention to Nick this time. She stopped at the same aisle she was at last and then checked the next one, looking at the alphabetic boxes stacked one after another. _L…M…N…O…bingo! Now, why didn't I find this earlier? It must have two sections or something._ She moved some of the boxes around with the last name of O and found what she was looking for. _O'Keefe, Michael John and Julianne Leslie, Homicide: January 3, 1991_. She pulled it out, avoiding the trail of dust that followed, and forgot that Nick was still behind her, had followed her, waiting for an answer.

"That's it?" Nick asked, reading the box as Maggie wiped off the dust. "Someone related to you?"

Maggie bit her lip; yes, she'd better tell Nick the truth. He'll find out sooner or later either from hanging out with her, spying on her or asking Grissom what was going on.

In a shaky voice, Maggie replied, "My parents' murder. I was there when it happened. But I didn't really see the killer, but saw him fully clothed." She turned away quickly and started for the exit (wherever that was), but was soon lost again. After a few more turns down the aisles, Maggie found the exit and was about to leave, stopped only by Nick.

Nick caught up with her quickly, just as before. "Maggie…Maggie, hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you." He took the box and placed it on the floor next to his feet and put his hands on her shoulders.

"No, it's all right, you didn't know…Nick." Maggie found herself in his arms and getting closer and closer to his face. Nick was doing the same. _Maybe the coffee meeting was much more –_

"Nick? You down there man? Grissom needs ya!" The loud and echoing voice of Warrick Brown disrupted the two. Nick broke away from Maggie as he heard the deafening thumping of Warrick's boots. _Too late, dammit…he saw._

Warrick acted pretty cool when he caught the two able to work on each other. "Man, there's been a case and Grissom needs you working on the carpet. He got some samples and needs you to work your magic fingers on them. I guess he knows you make your samples too large because he cut them himself." Warrick smiled and his green eyes sparkled with mischief. "Did I disrupt something?" he asked. His eyes looked at Maggie warmer than they ever had before.

"Just making sure our lovely C.S.I. here didn't get lost in the maze of lost cases here," Nick answered as he followed Warrick up the stairs. He did bother to smile back at Maggie though and mouth, "Your place after the shift?"

Maggie took out some scrap paper from her pocket (one of those things she knew to keep in her pocket or in her purse) and wrote her brothers' address and home phone number on it, quickly running back to Nick and slipping it in his back pocket as he followed Warrick up the stairs. Nick turned back to Maggie quickly and mouthed out a "Thanks" before disappearing up the stairs with his teasing colleague.

Smiling at such good luck and fortune, Maggie went back to retrieve the evidence box from the floor and went back upstairs, intend on heading back to Greg's layer of magic findings. _Maybe he can work his own "magic fingers" on this. I hope he can find more than I can or can conclude something else from the evidence._


	7. What was Found Already?

It had been another long night in the graveyard shift for Maggie and Greg. For the whole night shift, from eleven at night to five in the morning, Maggie reallocated the evidence in her parents' murder and found almost next to nothing. She felt like she was returning back to square one once more until she brought the material to Greg. Somehow, though, she had a feeling that there might be some leads in the case, especially if she brought it to the lab rat.

It was only the first day on the job – the same night she had found the evidence box – and initial findings were often disappointing. _But, there is always hope._

There was at least one victory. The samples Maggie took from under the couch were a match in the murder and to the things in the box (_It's a start_). Greg had then compared the evidence in the box (he had no other duties and the night was quiet, for Vegas) to those found that day and said the ashy residue was from the gun firing right next to the piece of furniture (how it stayed intact for years remains another mystery for another time) and the cloth was from the same suit that the killer had.

_Was there an extra struggle to catch the criminal in the act or had the killer been careless? The furniture had been overturned. Had my parents put up an extra fight in the end? Had they given someone – or me, for that matter – some evidence so that their killer would be put to justice?_

"What else is there?" Maggie asked as Greg told her that good piece of news, still thinking, even at five in the morning. The two of them were in the lab, talking privately. Others were sleeping on the shift or were working on another case elsewhere. To Maggie's relief, as well, was Nick, who was working with Catherine elsewhere and was out of the lab. She still felt the blood rush to her face when she thought of him and especially of their near-kiss in the basement floor.

Not to mention, Maggie didn't want to think about the possibility dating a co-worker. Her past relationships had been a disaster, since none of her ex-boyfriends could deal with her and her depression, and she always felt at fault when something happened in once. However, she felt that Nick was special almost and wanted to save him from the worst.

"Well," Greg started sleepily, getting Maggie back to reality, "there was blood on all the pieces of black clothing found. There is DNA on them, but most of it is from your victims here. There was a clash to the end. Some DNA was from a female in the early to mid-fifties, white…well, I think you know the rest. She was fighting for her life. The blast of the gun fire could have splattered some blood on that cloth, too. You got some blood there from the vics."

Maggie was about to ask what Greg's point of asking her to stay in his cubby was, but he got to the exciting part of his discoveries. "But, there is unknown DNA here, the killer obviously. I've also matched a description to the unknown killer. Your killer, though, is a white male in his mid or late teens perhaps when the murder was committed. The killer is a white male in his early thirties now. So, whatever you brought in is a match to the original case, but it's all I have right now."

"Ah, how I love the magic of DNA and modern technology." Maggie almost giggled with glee. She was more or less giddy with excitement when she finally discovered a lead…something! _Maybe we're not back to square one after all._ "So, the killer was about…_my_ age when he had murdered his victims." A sigh escaped her lips. "Is there anything else, Greg?"

"Other than the gun was a .25 firearm and killed each victim with two bullets each, nothing. I'll work on the fingerprints, if you want me to." Greg looked too tired, but Maggie seemed too excited to care. She didn't want to show it, either.

"So, there were prints?" Maggie was trying not to show her excitement again. "Where were they?" Stifling a yawn like Greg was trying to do, she kept herself awake with the information that could satisfy her curiosity finally. She wanted to know what the evidence was telling them initially.

"There are the victims trying to escape or trying to use something to block fire after trying to attack the killer," Greg explained with a yawn. He let it another. "The objects are in the evidence box. But anyhow, the prints were on the fabric from the rocking chair. Then there are those copies of fingerprints found on the heirloom gun. And there are footprints, copies of course, on the door. There is so much I can do with copies, though. I haven't worked on the unknown prints yet either, but I have a feeling they're from our killer."

"Thanks, Greg, you're the greatest!" Maggie hugged the lab rat, uncharacteristically of her, and headed out the door. "Go get some sleep. You need and most certainly deserve it!" she finally called over her shoulder.

"Don't I wish," Greg replied, turning back to his work. "Grissom might more for me to do after Nick and Catherine come back from their case down at Lake Mead."

"In that case," Maggie said as she turned back to Greg, "ask Grissom for a break." She was rewarded with a smile from the lab rat, who returned to his work on the things in the evidence box.

Dawn had arrived and it was already the end of the shift when the two parted from Greg's cubby. Maggie was meeting Nick at her place, as he had asked to, after he got back from his time on the field with Catherine. However, she knew it was going to be a while before he could come over.

Maggie went to the locker room, avoiding everyone (especially Nick, who had just come back from the field), and went out, whistling. She was too happy to care about anything else other than what Greg had found for her.

As she headed to her Malibu in the parking lot, Maggie thought of what happened during the conversation with Greg. The words rolled over in her mind and conclusions were made. _Maybe there is a lead, after all. Maybe I might be able to find out something. The nightmares will end. Life will be back to normal again, we can hope. At least we can be rest-assured that the killer will be in custody._


	8. An Embarrassing and Confusing Affair

_She had another nightmare, and to her, it was almost real life, as had every other nightmare she had._

_She was in a forest, running next to a beaten pathway instead of being on it. She knew that she had to get back on the beaten path and not be running through trees and brush. However, every time she tried to get back to the path, she sunk lower and lower into the ground as if it was quicksand. The skies, every time she came lower in the ground, became darker and the stars, which were shining above as she started to run, began to go out. Lightning flashed in the skies and thunder rolled._

_She felt as if she was getting away from something or someone. The evil force – if there was such thing as that – seemed to keep her in the dangerous part of the forest. "It" would not let her go to the beaten pathway._

_By the time her body was knee-deep into the ground, she tried to stop running, but she couldn't. Every time she tried afterward, more lightning would flash or thunder would roll. There was a something behind her still. How can she stop that unending, omnipresent present from following her, too? She tried every way to escape, still, but there was no way._

_Every step she took was feeling like knives in her back because she had dared to try. She had to stop and face her fears. She had to turn around and see who her adversary was._

_But four shots were fired in her direction._

~00~_  
_

Maggie woke up with a sudden start. _It's only a dream, a dream, nothing to be scared of_, she kept thinking to herself as she felt her heart race and beat heavily against her chest. But when she rolled over in her bed, to get back to her midday nap and forget the dream, she almost knocked herself into Nick again.

_Oh, shit, I forgot he stayed over for a nap_. Nick, she remembered, was falling asleep over his coffee in the kitchen and she offered to let him sleep upstairs in her room because nothing else could be offered. The couches were evidence to her and she had been trying to preserve them. Her brothers were strict when it came to people coming into their rooms without them around (Grace was also sleeping in Eddie's room as well, since she, too, had a graveyard shift), and Robbie's was simply too small for Nick, who would have felt that his room was like a closet.

Nick accepted Maggie's offer after he understood what she was saying (Maggie guessed that Nick barely had any sleep lately) and was almost stupid with sleep as he trudged up the steep stairs. Maggie tried to keep him from falling down the vertical stairs, but instead of keeping him from tripping down the stairs, she had to resist the temptation of falling into her double bed with him.

Oh, Nick wanted her to and didn't seem to mind because he knew how tired she was too, but Maggie kept thinking how far she was going with a co-worker. _It's against the rules. That or someone can take it wrong if they see it. Ecklie could hear about it somewhere and fire one or both of us. He'd love a chance to smear Grissom with something because he thinks he's better than Grissom. They've been competing – more like fighting – for years now. He'd take any chance he could to compete with the night shift and make his look better._

The bed was tempting, though – the night and its reports had been long and the shift worrisome with the case she picked up – and Maggie fell right in as easily as she hesitantly jumped in. As Nick fell asleep on her bed, Maggie thought that going the same route seemed to be a good idea, despite her worries about being caught in bed with Nick, and almost hit the shores of sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow of the over-sized bed. Until the nightmare had come, she was fine and happy for the much-needed sleep.

Maggie sat up and looked at her ancient clock when she felt fully awake. She noticed that it was noon. Carefully, she got out of her bed, so that she couldn't wake up Nick, and was just about to take her dirty clothes, from last night, off when she heard rustling nearby. She could have guessed what it was, but was surprised by the sight before her. Nick was awake and staring at her. Maggie knew what the problem was immediately.

The shirt Maggie was going to take off still hung halfway in suspense, her arms frozen as Nick sat up and looked at her white stomach. She quickly put her shirt down as Nick smirked and then eventually laughed at her, obviously enjoying this little joke. Even being in her bedroom seemed to be a joke and napping next to her was much more comic, apparently.

Nick got up and patted her on the back. "You need a Vegas tan, I see," he joked as opened and headed out the door. Maggie heard Nick practically run down the stairs and head to the kitchen, where he grabbed his keys and walked outside. A car was started, obviously Nick's.

Unfortunately for Maggie, though, Robbie had popped his head up the stairs and was at the door and even staring at a shocked Maggie. The young C.S.I stared back at her nephew, still embarrassed, and turned red in the face because of the circumstances of the situation.

_Oh, God…what does he know? What has he seen?_

"What was that all about?" Robbie signed at her as Nick was heard leaving. He saw that Nick seemed happy – at least to Maggie – about being around her, but at the same time, the two were embarrassed about the incident in the bedroom.

Maggie faced him, still red in the face and very embarrassed. "I don't know and I don't think I want to," she signed back. "But I think it's something more than I can handle. Please don't say anything to anybody."

She closed the door on her nephew from the inside and finally, in privacy, changed into clean clothes. After this, she needed to mend this embarrassing affair with Nick.

~00~

It was by the end of the week that everyone knew about Maggie and Nick or knew that there was something going on between them, more than just being friends. It didn't bother Maggie any (she knew that Nick was usually indifferent and shrugged his shoulders when she asked him about it privately in the locker room), for everyone never mentioned it or teased her about it. Grissom most especially did not say anything and would not talk to either of them about the affair.

"He doesn't know if it's serious or not," Nick mentioned one night in passing. He and Maggie had been staying away from each other for a while – to keep things quiet – and it made Maggie confused about her feelings for Nick.

Maggie knew that dating co-worker spelled out disaster. After the week in which the two decided not to talk, she started to work on different cases than Nick and always volunteered to get away from him every time they worked together on the same case (Maggie _had_ to be in a different room than Nick or be on a different task in order to concentrate on the work at hand).

Sometimes, after the long night shift, they always met for coffee in the kitchen of her brothers' home or at his apartment, where they would play on his PS2, trying to tackle each other in football games as the dawn turned into daytime. He always liked to play Randy Moss, her Tom Brady (she had lived in New England too long _not_ to love the New England Patriots), so it was a competition to see which was better at playing a quarterback.

But throughout the busy schedules they both had, Maggie and Nick always found time for each other and their co-workers, especially as how the team had met up at a diner for breakfast often. Maggie soon realized that they were a family and most certainly felt like one of them as time went by and people on the team liked her. The initial feelings they had for her – the usual annoyance at a newbie, but frustration, to see how well she would do – were gone.

The two often sat with Catherine, Sara, Brass, Grissom and Warrick at a local diner for breakfast or maybe it was a few of them at somebody's house to talk about recent cases and about their lives. Maggie saw Lindsey, Catherine's daughter, a butterball of blonde like her mother, who loved to bounce around and play with Warrick. Some nights, when Maggie went over to Catherine's to discuss anything, she brought Robbie. The two children would play, despite Robbie being deaf and not being able to understand Lindsey half the time.

Before she knew it, Maggie found herself too busy to work on her parents' case because of this new social whirlwind. She hadn't been able to identify the prints of the killer and no information has been developed since Greg told her of the last results.

The nightmares continued, however. They never ceased to bother her in the middle of night, when all of her fears were spelled out clearly, and crept up on her unexpectedly.


	9. Connecting the Dots

It was a chilly October in Las Vegas that year. Jackets, hats and scarves on, the team of C.S.I.'s continued to investigate the crimes of Las Vegas, but it seemed that it was never-ending. In what seemed like forever (after night after night of working on one case after another nonstop without a vacation), Maggie found that she was actually sitting and relaxing in her office, working on the latest report for Ecklie and drinking a cup of office coffee, writing on the last case she worked on with Catherine and Sara.

It was the night shift once more – after midnight, for sure – and it was a quiet one, at that. For Maggie, it was a relief. Nothing seemed to be in the way of that nice nap she craved for after the last words were put on paper, something she needed working the stressing nights in the lights of Sin City.

A knock on the door interrupted Maggie's thoughts (and most certainly, her upcoming nap) as she printed the last report from her computer and stapled it together quickly. It was Greg, something that surprised Maggie. She hadn't been able to talk to him at all because of the influx of cases and crimes, but only seen him briefly as she was dropping off evidence bags for him to process and handle.

Maggie's reaction was warm. She looked up at the lab rat and smiled, laughed almost, as he stuttered about what he wanted to say to her. "Umm, you know the prints from your case a few months ago? You know, the ones you dropped off and we were trying to figure out?"

"Yes…" Maggie's naptime mood suddenly turned to a perked interest. _How did Greg find time to do this? We've had too many cases lately. Unless he had some time earlier today, then I don't see it._

"Well, Ms. O'Keefe, today's your lucky night," Greg said with a smile, "for I have found a match to the prints of the killer, I think. And boy, he sure looks like a deadly adversary to me." The last statement was said with some sarcasm and Maggie noted it, ignoring it almost.

"You ran them into A.F.I.S. for me?" Maggie was ready to get up and jump for joy (despite Greg's apparent sarcasm), for this was a step closer to a case closed on a cold case. They could have a good suspect and the game can start once more.

"Yes and no," Greg answered carefully. "Yes, I did run them through A.F.I.S. But no, there isn't really a match to an actual real name. The person's name is Harry Pits –"

"An obvious stage name," Maggie interjected with gloom in her voice. She remembered the name vaguely from long ago – thought it was gross and immature – and turned to more important things than entertainers in Las Vegas.

"Yes, he's a retired magician who works the Strip _and_ he's very well-known there." Greg explained quickly to put the excitement back in Maggie. "He was arrested in 1999 for assaulting a cop at the club, with no motivation, but was released with a fine of ten thousand and some note in his record about it. He's about thirty and has been clean mostly, except maybe this murder case which nobody could know about."

Greg sighed, but Maggie knew he had more to say. "There are also some other files about him elsewhere in the system," the lab rat continued. "He had a different name before he became famous. Mostly, the files are coming from the Department of Children and Families, but the police records don't report it unless you read carefully, see his real name and put it through the computer. Maybe the suspect had some sort of past before having his more than fifteen minutes of fame."

Maggie got up and went over to the spiky-haired lab tech, noting that Greg didn't tell her the entertainer's real name, but racked it up with him being tired as well. "I won't let Grissom know that you gave an educated guess," she said. "And thanks, Greg, I really appreciate you working for me like this. I didn't expect it, especially with all of the cases we've been having lately."

"Don't mention it," Greg replied with a shrug. "Say, whose cold case are you working on anyway? I was wondering about it and saw the name. I figured they were relatives of yours."

Maggie gulped audibly, trying to form the words in her mouth, and almost decided to avoid the question altogether when she was suddenly paged by Grissom, who was down the hall with Nick and Jim Brass.

_Oh, Grissom has perfect timing, all right. But should I tell Greg, too? He probably should know, since he's done this for me. _This was her perfect escape, but she knew that she could have to answer this question to Greg someday. After all, he was working on this case with her without complaint, with no knowledge about it and the background behind it, and needed to know. That was his right.

Maggie, as she started to grab her things from her office, then deemed it safe to tell him. She answered a shocked Greg as she grabbed her coat from the doorway, after grabbing her kit, and said over her shoulders, "My parents' murder from 1991."

Greg stood there, agape, and would not move. "You could have told me this earlier," he yelled back, sympathy in his voice.

~00~

Grissom, Brass, Nick and Maggie were riding in the Taurus while Catherine, Sara and Warrick rode behind them in the Tahoe. They were answering a mass murder call from just outside the Strip. There was a mass execution of a family with few survivors, namely the children, who were going to be the first witnesses and, naturally, suspects.

Naturally, the mood of the car was that of resignation and sometimes sadness. It was something they could have avoided, but always felt anyhow.

The ride to the home of James and Christine Holiday and their family was quiet, but the detective and C.S.I.s knew that this affair was going to be anything but quiet. The media, one of Grissom's worst nightmares in this business, could have gotten a whiff of the story and connected some dots, or worse, it could turn into a game of politics with the sheriff getting involved, much like everything else. And politics was the second thing Grissom hated the most.

"So, what do we know about the situation?" Nick asked Grissom, who was driving (rare is that time). "All I know is that we have a few murders in the family home."

Grissom motioned his head to Brass, who took out a notebook from his clean sports jacket. Brass read his notes to the people sitting in back as Grissom eased to a stop at a busy Vegas intersection. The traffic was brutal.

"Christine and James Holiday, both in their early fifties, were shot and killed in their living room," Brass read from his notes, not looking back at the C.S.I.s in the back of the car. "The missus was sitting in a rocking chair and reading while the hubby was smoking and doing a crossword. Their children were sleeping upstairs when their youngest, a child of seven, heard the back door being rammed open and the four shots. He came down to investigate, yelled about the killer and was killed instantly as he stood in the neighboring dining room. The eldest got out the cell phone and called nine-one-one as soon as he heard everything. He and the middle child didn't bother to head downstairs. They just heard the shots and assumed the worst had happened."

The green traffic light that flashed down on the car blinded the shocked Maggie. She looked at a bewildered Nick and then to the stoic Grissom and Brass. Then, she asked. "Where was each shot, the husband and wife?"

Brass flipped though his notes and hesitated in answering. Grissom quickly gave him a look before Brass finally responded to the shaken Maggie. "The husband was shot in the head and back while the wife was hit in the head twice. The kid, we don't know, his siblings just saw a pool of blood under the table and knew he was dead when he didn't respond to their yelling after calling nine-one-one."

"Was there any gun retrieved from the scene?" Maggie shot her questions off quickly. "What type of gun was used? Have they determined it yet?"

Brass was a little startled by the questions, but knew why they were coming. "Nothing was taken from the scene, but the eldest, who's twenty-one and a gun expert, told the cops that came first that he thought it was a .25 or a little smaller, upon seeing the living room scene before the authorities came. The cops wouldn't let him anywhere near the crime scenes afterward."

"He might have contaminated the scene," grumbled Nick. He was a little more annoyed about it.

"So," Maggie continued, ignoring Nick, "we're looking at a homicide in which an innocent pair and their youngest were killed by someone who ran in their yard, blasted the door and just shot them point-blank? Could there have been a motivation or was this a random killing?"

"Don't assume that it was like your parents, Maggie," Grissom interjected as he stopped at yet another traffic light. He, too, knew why the questions were coming and didn't want the assumptions, just yet. "This could be an entirely different case or even a copycat. We haven't even seen the scene yet. The evidence hasn't told us anything."

Maggie was frustrated with Grissom. A "gut feeling" was telling her otherwise. "But this is a similar scene except the kid's –"

A cell phone chirped. This time, it was Brass's, another unusual occurrence. He took it out of his pocket and answered it, listening for a minute.

It was a short phone call. Brass only said, "We'll be there." He pressed END on his phone and put it away. He was silent for a few minutes before saying, "The other kids have been gunned down, same person, the cops believe. Witnesses next door saw the same beefy, tall man about thirty in black, the same that the youngest yelled about before he was shot. Cops weren't even looking after them – they were upstairs in their rooms – when the killer came back. Captain of the Force is a little more than pissed about it."

"Wait," Maggie began slowly, "the youngest yelled about the killer and that was why he was killed? I thought he was just killed because the killer wanted to silence a witness who didn't say anything but saw? He could have known about the killer and wanted to tell someone about it instead of details. Either way, it's the same thing."

"A safe hypothesis, but we don't make those. The evidence will tell us what happened." Grissom repeated his words with an annoying smile as he pulled gently into the already-crowded driveway of 4809 Vagueway Drive. Catherine, who was driving the Tahoe, parked behind Grissom and his crew.

"Time to get to work then," Brass said as he popped open the car door.

~00~

By the end of the shift, the C.S.I.'s had collected little to nothing in the way of evidence. The bullets were pulled out from all the bodies from the medical examiner, blood was dripping everywhere and all five victims were dead. The youngest who came the closest to seeing the killer was laying face-up on the dining room floor still, his eyes empty and yet still open to the horrific scene he witnessed. His elder siblings were in their beds upstairs, blood soaking their sheets. They had been shot and stabbed. It was also possible that all three were in a struggle (Warrick was annoyed to find nothing from the killer upstairs, not even DNA). The parents were still in the living room, the husband's body protecting his wife from the terror that reached their household.

Maggie felt sick. She hadn't felt this way since Jackie's murder and before that, her parents'. It was a gruesome site to work in. _And yet, all of them seem connected. I know it, I just know it._

Maggie went to work immediately. Catherine and Sara worked on the parents in the living room, Nick and Warrick worked upstairs with the two eldest children, Brass worked on interviewing the neighbors and Maggie and Grissom worked on the small child together, who looked young enough to be in Kindergarten (_Didn't Brass say he was seven?_).

Indeed, the neighbors said to Brass that little Gary Holiday, seven years old, was a loud, sweet kid, who was raised right by his parents. He and his family didn't deserve their end, they all said.

_So says all the neighbors who knew them_, Maggie thought grimy as she stared into the dead eyes of the child.

Catherine and Sara had called for nothing, but what the attacks had produced and some evidence of a person trying to take the bullets from the bodies (and failing miserably), as did Warrick and Nick. Grissom, meanwhile, had watched Maggie as she dismantled the child's clothing and found scratches on his arm.

"Defensive wounds," she said. "But what are they from? If he shot from a distance, like the body is telling us, then why does he have defensive wounds?"

"Maybe there was an apprentice?" Grissom suggested, shocking to Maggie. She had a feeling that there was one person responsible for the murder, but she could not assume anything while Grissom was around.

"Yes, there had been one man in black, here, according to the neighbors," Maggie answered. "If there was someone else, he or she would have been noticed, but not necessarily. But there would have been more destruction in the house or more struggle." She wanted to know more.

Upon further investigation, when turning the child's sleeve over (to prove a point with Grissom), she saw it. Something was caught in the child's sleeve: a piece of black cloth, the same from her parents' murder scene.

"Grissom," she gasped, but it the only thing she could say. The revelation shocked her.

Maggie had suddenly felt herself turn sick and she knew she needed to get out of the scene fast before she also contaminated it. Everything around her was a blur. She could sense nothing, hear nothing and feel nothing. All she could think of was solving this brutal murder and stopping him in his tracks. It made her sicker.

"Maggie?" Nick was behind her with his kit, trying to get her attention again. He knew something was wrong.

Maggie felt herself get up and leave the house, only to find herself conscious a few minutes later, in the backyard of the victims' home, heaving heavily in the grass. Nick was behind her, holding her long, black hair back and trying to say something, but Maggie couldn't hear anything. The only things she was aware of were being sickened by finding what she did, the team's concerned stares from the deck behind her and Nick's blurry words.

After a few minutes, Maggie was aware that Nick had left her, only to be replaced by Grissom, who, she assumed, told Nick to stay back and keep away. Her hair flew right back into her face and was easily in the way, but Grissom's hand put a reassuring pat to her back. It didn't help Maggie much and it didn't feel as comforting as Nick behind her. She felt embarrassed and wanted Nick back, but did not say anything to Grissom

"Come on, Maggie," Grissom said as he continued to pat Maggie on the back. "We aren't done yet. The evidence isn't done talking with us yet."


	10. Discuss the Past and Debate the Rest

Sara and Catherine were back at the lab later the next night, trying to lace together the pieces that they and the others found at the crime scene (the day shift had not bothered to help them at all and Ecklie was not interested in theories about case connections until the evidence was processed completely). But it wasn't the only thing that they needed to figure out.

"I wonder what's eating her," Sara commented, referring to Maggie the night before, as she fed the fingerprints she got from the house and from the neighbors into A.F.I.S. The young, new C.S.I. couldn't take the case, and they all knew she didn't become sick at all during any case, so there must be something, anything really, bothering her.

Catherine was startled by Sara's comment, knowing what she was talking about. She had watched Grissom help Maggie get up and go back to the scene and had felt pity in her stomach. "I don't know, and it's not any of our –"

Grissom came in abruptly, interrupting her reply. He was shortly followed by Warrick, Brass and Nick.

"I see that we're all here already and that I don't need to call anyone to this meeting," Grissom began. "It'll be easier to talk to everyone then."

"Gris, what are you talking about?" the lanky Warrick asked, still confused why he was called to a meeting that didn't state any agenda. He didn't even know _why_ Grissom wanted to talk to all of them when he called him, Nick and Brass over to look for Catherine and Sara.

Grissom faced the African-American. "I suggest you all find seats and listen. This is very important to the case and it may have an effect on Maggie. After last night, I thought that you might have to hear this. It would explain a lot of things."

"Oh, story time!" Sara swiveled herself in her chair, trying to keep an eye on A.F.I.S. at the same time she wanted to hear the story, another dot to connect. Catherine tried to give the younger C.S.I. a warning look, but failed. Sara was, at least, right in this aspect.

_What was going on with her?_ It was a question that everyone had, at least once, thought. Finally, Grissom was going to tell them what was going on. It _did_ seem that he kept everything to himself until the opportune moment came about.

The others, as time passed, found their places in the small room that served as their fingerprint center and looked to Grissom.

Grissom began. "I don't think too many people know that Maggie's parents were murdered twelve years ago or that she has – had – depression. I don't think too many people would also understand why she chose the path of forensics, but she did. It gave her a place of acceptance and she knew it. She also knew how much rejection she had in life because of how different she was from everyone else. Her parents couldn't control her as a child and they had sent her away by order of the state, but she remains haunted still because it seemed to be a parental rejection."

Grissom sighed. "She has changed over the last decade I saw her. She is – was – loved by her parents, regardless, and her brothers show their love in some way. She left their household when she could, after a year of staying in Las Vegas, and, like her father before her, she liked to migrate from one place to the next. She moved with such speed from place to place, mostly when she was promoted, that it became a joke, almost.

"A question remains, though: why? Why did she really come back to in Las Vegas? She moved as she was promoted, which was four departments, and yet she couldn't get the murder of her parents out of her mind. Every department never gave her the satisfaction she wanted, or the challenges that she needed, and denied every request she gave them when asking to work on her parents' case. She saw, perhaps, some connection to her parents in the murder of one of her colleagues – one Jacqueline Polsen – and yet the departments would not let her investigate the murder for fear of reputation and how close she was to the victim."

Grissom released another sigh. "The evidence was in front of her, and yet, she chose to ignore it as she was denied and move on to focus on the main topic: her parents. She trusts her gut feelings more than anything else and it showed last night. She _knew_, somehow, the killer was back and he was going to move against her once more."

Everyone was silent as Grissom spoke. Nick appeared thoughtful while the others were blinking their eyes (Catherine, Brass and Warrick) or wanting to say something, but choosing not to because of Grissom (Sara). He himself never asked Maggie about why she came back to Las Vegas, just where she's been and what she did with her life. She told the truth to him (he could tell by the sincere look in her eyes) and showed the pictures and told the stories about each one. She even told the story of her murdered friend Jackie.

Nick thought for a moment and tried to think about what else Maggie could be keeping from him. _Wait, could Maggie be leaving Las Vegas?_ She had her South Carolina license plate stuck on her Malibu still. Perhaps, she never bothered to change it because she somehow knew that she was just going to leave for another place again and leave behind someplace that she considered home. _But why did she really come back? Was she…?_

"Grissom," Nick broke the silence. "Was it at all possible she was threatened or even sent a note? Maybe she was called back here and told if she _didn't_ come back, something would happen. She might have also found another piece of evidence to follow and it turned out to be home: Las Vegas. It was another clue to the murder and it came in the form of a threat."

"That could be possible, Warrick added. "Maybe the killer sent her something and told her, 'Hey, get your ass over here or else something will happen.' It's enough to make anybody come back home."

"Perhaps the killer wanted to settle a score with her and use her family as a tool again," Catherine said with a shudder. She knew the feeling of having your family threatened and she would fight to the end to stop it.

"Her family is, after all, a center of her life," Brass said, "as with most everyone else." He remembered the O'Keefe family well enough to take that as fact. The siblings stayed together for another year before Maggie went off to college and they agreed to take her back in when she was back in town.

"Good," Grissom said with some sort of smile on his face. He didn't like assumptions, but he had talked with Maggie's brothers, who had found some of her things lying out in her room, such as pictures and notes about their parents' case. He knew what was going on.

"And what about the Holidays?" Grissom asked his team.

Sara jumped right in saying, to impress Grissom, "It's something to torture her with and to remind her that it could have happened to her in the past or sometime in the future. She must have had someone stalk her for years, someone who knew her for a while, who might have used her parents. The killer/stalker might have tormented her more without her knowing it for sure. She has depression, right? Well, what if the suspect got into some trouble with her father, the police officer, and had an obsession with her afterward? If she didn't come back –"

"Her family could be killed. With her back, she or Robbie or even her brothers could be held at ransom," Catherine finished.

"What about this Harry Pit character now?" Greg walked in with some papers in his hands. He was directed to where the team was, but was more interested in looking for Maggie. He thought to find her with the team, but it was obvious she wasn't there.

"Yes, what about this supposed suspect of ours, Harry Pit, Greg?" Grissom said with some irritation in his voice. He turned to face the lab rat that had interrupted on some private grounds uninvited.

"Well, according to the lab results, the black clothes from both murder scenes match each other," Greg said. "There was also a hair from the second scene, Grissom, a small one from the boy's sleeve you found. It matched the DNA that Maggie gave us from the evidence boxes and her finds at her home."

Suddenly, Greg's face was flashing colors. "And I see A.F.I.S. has a match," he noted.

Indeed, A.F.I.S. was flashing its colors when it has a match. Sara swiveled back to the computer to find out who the match is. She typed a few strokes and clicked. A minute later, she almost gasped at who the result was: Harry Pit, also known as Jason Napolitano, a thirty-one year old retired magician in Las Vegas.

Everyone, even Grissom, stared on with horror and surprise.

"So," Brass began to reel the frightened C.S.I.s back in reality, "does this mean she needs a bodyguard or someone to shadow her now?"


	11. Suspect Found: A Search Begins

The black cloth was a match found to her parents' murder scene. Greg and the other lab techs had matched everything found – the cloth, unknown blood sample and the description – to the killer of the 1991 murders. His alias was Harry Pit, a magician, aged about thirty years old, whose real name was Jason Napolitano. That was all they had.

Grissom had mentioned to everybody that this was a killer not to be reckoned with and to use caution. He even went as far as almost taking Maggie off the case, but somehow, did not, although she should have been. Maggie knew that he was holding something back. Grissom talked with his team, but not to her. She could not get anything out of anybody about what else he was saying, not even from Nick.

Maggie had noticed that Nick had been more distant from her, more so than they first met and were awkward with each other, and it hurt her. He stopped inviting her to places, like to breakfast after their shift, or coming over to her brothers' house for coffee and a nap on a couch. They barely talked in the hallways, past a greeting, and never worked on cases together. Save for talking about the Holidays' murders a few weeks previously, Maggie had seen little of Nick.

"What did I do to him?" she asked Catherine one night, the both of them were off. Maggie had been sitting in Catherine's dining room – long after Lindsey had gone to bed – and sighed, taking a gulp from her cup of black coffee.

"Maybe he's worried," Catherine offered, also sipping from a cup of coffee. "Look, Maggie, it's clear he likes you a lot. He's been hanging off of you for a while. Take it from me. If Nick didn't like you, he'd tell you. If he's acting like that, maybe he's worried about the case. It's in his nature to empathize with people and be overemotional about it later. He doesn't show a lot. He works too much to notice sometimes, too."

"Yeah, but we're all worried about these cases," Maggie replied. "There is my parents' murder, which I dug up, and possibly the same killer tagged another family and maybe another. Who knows?"

Catherine just smiled. "Well, we have a suspect and Brass is taking it slow with this one. Usually, he's up in arms about it. But, I'm getting off-topic here. It's getting late. Don't you have to get into the lab earlier than usual tomorrow?"

"It's only for Grissom," Maggie confessed. "He wants to talk to me about something."

A laugh escaped from Catherine's lips. "How diplomatic of him," she replied, getting up. "Good luck. He's not good with talking to people, but his insects, if you haven't noticed. It's all he thinks about sometimes."

Maggie got up as well. "I should be getting going, then. Good night, Catherine, and thank you."

As Catherine escorted Maggie out the door, with the usual farewells, Maggie could only think about the case and not talking about Grissom the next day. _Who is this Harry Pit? And what does he want with me?_ This was all she thought, all she could even _think_ of, as she unlocked her Malibu and drove off to her brothers'.

For the next week, it had been quiet. Maggie had been aimlessly working in her office at C.S.I. during that time, still fingering that black cloth in the evidence bag (again and again, mindless), when she noticed that Catherine came in, a person she's been talking to for days. On the desk, next to the evidence bag, was a copy of the results that came from the Holidays' murders and her parents'. It was something Maggie had also been fingering and reading over and over again.

Catherine spotted the evidence and the reports as she came in. She put another page, containing the address of Harry Pit (using that name in his mail, credit card and other personal conveniences) and where he worked now (the Strip's most famous bar _Night Life_), on Maggie's desk (Maggie noted that it was one of many copies, wondering why Catherine gave it to her) and sighed at her. She also looked like she wanted to talk to Maggie, but the younger – and much more worried – C.S.I. could not tell until Catherine spoke to her.

"Hey there, Maggie." Catherine finally wheeled up a chair into the office from the outside hallway and sat in front of the desk. Maggie looked up and saw a concerned face of this protective single mother and knew better than to agitate her. Catherine may have helped her by putting up the addresses on her face – Maggie knew that she wasn't really supposed to know any of it – but the elder C.S.I. was obviously trying to help the younger and was worried otherwise.

Quickly, Catherine got to the point of her visit. "Listen, Maggie, Grissom told everyone about your parents. He had to, for the sake of the case, and because the two, since early this morning, are linked to one killer. I just wanted to say that, we're all be there for you when you need it. Just, don't be stupid about anything. I dropped this off on your desk. Grissom wanted you to have it, I know he would. Because you're the only witness to the first murder, he would know you would do anything to help the case."

Catherine sighed. "I know this has meant so much to you. You can leave the case anytime you wish to because of how close you are, but I doubt it. Grissom did mention to me that you have wanted to solve this murder, like every puzzle put in front of you, for years now. He may have banned you from some parts of the case, but it isn't fair to you. It's still your decision."

Maggie glared straight into Catherine's eyes and tried to forget where she was and the pain she felt through this findings, but couldn't, not answering for a few minutes. The pain from her parents' deaths came back to her. Waking up and see the paramedics, the police and finally, the C.S.I.s…being interrogated intensely by Ecklie, who demanded everything out of her and convinced people on the Las Vegas Force of her guilt…seeing her parents' bodies in the morgue, begging Grissom to take her there to see her greatest nightmare and holding his hand doing it…knowing that the killer was still on the loose. Images of their funeral came before her eyes – _There was always black, everywhere on such a sunny day in Vegas_ – as her grieving family from both sides of the States came. Her parents' bodies were sent to Connecticut to be cremated, where their families originally came from, and her brothers gained custody of her.

Sympathetic and harassing looks followed her in high school and she was always bothered by that idiot she tried to press charges against, but couldn't. However, whenever Maggie thought of Jason Napolitano, she saw a dark closet and his figure pushing against her. And, suddenly, it all clicked together. She knew who the murderer was.

Maggie then tried to think of the times when nothing mattered, before the murders and the moments of silence with Catherine, but couldn't because there wasn't quite too many. Tears were ready to fill her eyes, but she knew that she couldn't cry, _especially_ with anybody else around her. She had more important work ahead of her and Catherine knew it. Catherine also knew that she wanted to do this. She wanted to help those around her and solve the daily puzzles that surround the world. That was why she and Grissom allowed her to have the address list.

Maggie sighed audibly, looking back to Catherine, and said in a whisper, "I'll take on the case. I have some information on a person, seeing as how he's been bothering me in the past, and it's a lead, thanks in part to Greg. I was planning to tackle some of it today and later on tonight. Grissom asked that I stay home tonight to work. He said, last week, that it might help to work in a more comfortable environment."

_Should I tell Catherine the rest? Should I tell her that Grissom was thinking about laying me off from my job or transferring me, seeing as how I'm in love with a co-worker, I'm working on some case from the past that I'm a witness to and, not to mention, I might endanger the lab itself? No, she'll know…_

"All right…" Catherine got up and put a reassuring hand to the younger woman's shoulder. "Just remember, when you need a hand, just yell."

Catherine then picked up the chair and went out the door as quickly as she came in. Maggie got up to look after her, but Catherine had gone to the hallway's end with her chair already, wheeling it along as she went, and disappearing into another office. Maggie smiled to herself, glad that the elder was gone, and grabbed her coat, intent on heading to Harry Pit's home and workplace alone. She had to dispel her feelings and get the case cracked before long. Evidence was crucial and time was of the essence.

_Showtime_, she thought enthusiastically, for once, as she went out the door, forgetting her almost-drowning tears prompted from Catherine's questions. She didn't even bother to grab Brass or any of the detectives on her way out the door like Grissom suggested the previous week (as well). And she certainly didn't want Nick to know of her pain and what it was making her do what she needed to do.


	12. The Killer Comes Back

Maggie had left _Night Life_ strip bar without any luck. Nobody had heard from Harry Pit all week in fact (they said that it was quiet, even for him), and nobody had anything but nice things to say about him. The bartender called him "A grade-A magician and friend." The strippers called him "Sexy!" The customers that came there and knew him said he was "Quiet, but a great friend." It frustrated Maggie that she had no more leads.

Nobody, again, saw him in a week and his home phone had been turned off the month before because of money issues, which confused Maggie, because a magician in Vegas could earn millions. Pit didn't even have a cell phone of his own. He lived in an apartment complex on the "other side of the Las Vegas tracks" with his wife and a few children. This, again, confused Maggie. _Why would someone rich and famous live there?_

Maggie gulped to think about that assignment ahead for tomorrow – to talk with his wife and children at home – but that time, she was bringing Brass, who was an expert at questioning. Otherwise, she could report what she heard and type her notes to give to Grissom the next night, when she came for the next night shift.

Maggie was not enthused about her work that day and almost felt guilty about it. _Grissom and the rest of them will forgive me for dong this on my own, but I had to do it. Catherine and Grissom gave me the chance to do it – gave me addresses and names and everything – so, I won't let them down._

She headed home in her Malibu around three-thirty. When Maggie got home to her brothers', she knew she had research to do on this Harry Pit character, a famous person in Vegas obviously. Time was ticking and another murder could happen if she didn't hurry. She felt that it was up to her to stop this madness before he struck again.

~00~

By around midnight, later that night, Maggie knew that Harry Pit was a murderer for sure. Grissom and the team might have labeled him as a suspect – his fingerprints and DNA were everywhere on the evidence – but through her research, Maggie knew that there was no other person who could have murdered her parents and the Holidays.

Maggie had booted up her laptop in the study/office downstairs of her room and went into Google. She typed in Harry Pit, with many results, so had to do an advanced search (the porn sites were plentiful and all she wanted was information, not skin). She narrowed it down to the Las Vegas area and _Night Life_ and hit what she was looking for immediately. Although the porn sites were still plentiful, there were still biographical, decent sites, as well.

Flickering her eyes over the results, Maggie clicked on Wikipedia, the first link that wasn't porn, hopefully seeing a speck of evidence, but none to help her. Of course, it was a fan article on him in Wikipedia, but with no picture except a blurry one of him onstage (Maggie was hoping for a profile shot). All it said was that he was a magician, lady's man, had children and a wife, etc, etc. (_Some ladies' man_, Maggie thought with a twisted smile). Maggie didn't know about him being married, so filed it into her mind with other little facts about the man.

The next result on the search was newspaper articles from _The Las Vegas Sun_ and _The New York Times Entertainment Page _both from late 2001 and early 2002. In it, both explain the comeback of Harry Pit and how, since his arrest in 1999, he has made appearances in many bars and The Strip in Las Vegas. Both list his biographical information and what Maggie read almost shocked her. Some pictures were even in there, surprising her more.

Pit, who is now thirty-one, has a wife named Karen and three children (they had married in 1997 about four months before their eldest was born). He lived in Vegas his whole life. He was also abandoned by his parents when he was born and was raised in an apartment complex, where he still lives today with his family, by a group of traveling hippies and pranksters. One day, Child Services rained down upon his never-ending party, took him to a foster home for a month and then he was let off the hook when he ran off, never to be seen again until he was an adult except in school, where he belonged.

In other words, Pit went back to his hippie/prankster friends in the apartment complex, but was forced by the state to attend school and other normal functions of a child his age. He was known in school as an over-sexed class clown who changed his name to become a star and went to the top, traveling to support himself and his family.

The last part amazed and surprised Maggie the most, even though she had suspected that much for the last week. The suspect's real name was Jason Napolitano, the same person who had been dominating her nightmares and plagued her life ever since she left high school. His picture was pasted on both articles, as was his high school senior class photo in which Maggie was in, towards the back and to the right. The class clown himself was seated in the front center, ever making a scene to attract more attention than what he needed, with his classmates snickering.

_He was the one that molested me! Then why kill my parents before…? They had done nothing to him, as far as I know, except for protect me. They did nothing too him!_

Maggie was so scared, but she knew what to do next. She needed to stay as calm as possible (and keep her family just as calm), get off the case quickly and seek some protection from the L.V.M.P.D., especially for her family, who could be just as hurt by this and worse, used by the suspect.

It was only a phone call away, a minute of dialing away. Grissom could get Brass down to the house and get something organized fairly quickly. And all Maggie had to do was give up her research evidence, wait the case out safely, testify to the courts and recount the scene from all those years ago and be done with it until she meets the murderer, face-to-face.

Maggie was shaking hard as she went into the kitchen to pick up the phone (she thought that using her cell phone was dangerous enough and could be traced more easily), but was quick enough to dial Grissom's number, from memory, with those shaking hands. Her brothers and Grace, watching the news in the living room, gave her quizzical looks when seeing her distressed face, but were quiet enough to leave her alone and quiet their own concerns. They knew better.

Maggie headed back to the study with the phone, calling the office, and waited for Grissom to pick up, and thankfully, he was in his office when he did. "Grissom here."

"This is Maggie, Grissom." _Damn, I wish my hands would stop shaking._ "I just got some information from our suspect, Harry Pit, our magician."

"Really?" Grissom sounded interested. _He might as well have had his eyebrows raised, too. Knowing Grissom, he'd study the evidence, even if it's research, like it's one of his specimens in the office: carefully and with the same care._

"Yes, and listen to this." Maggie said her words too fast, but then stopped, breathed in and out a few times, and continued. "He has been a model citizen, but a comic character, until his arrest in 1999, etc., but he has been described as having a broken home and lives the same place since he was born."

Suddenly, it was hard for Maggie to breathe and she had to speak quickly. "My God, Grissom, he was the one who molested me in high school!This guy is dangerous and I remember it well. We need some protection!" Maggie was almost yelling, but had to stop because Robbie was upstairs sleeping and could feel the vibrations and sense her distress. She couldn't let her emotions get to her, so contented herself by breathing in and out of her mouth and nose once more.

There was a moment of silence before Grissom talked. "Do you have an address?" Grissom was cool and calm, much more so than Maggie.

"Yes…yes, it's 45 Alloy Street, second floor," Maggie managed to tell Grissom. "Be careful, he also has –"

A loud noise by the front door disrupted her sentence. It almost sounded like a gunshot, something that sounded so familiar to Maggie. It was something she hadn't heard in twelve, long years. She dreaded in hearing such a noise and shuddered, knowing what it could mean.

"What was that?" Grissom yelled from the other line. This time, he was worried and it showed.

Maggie, already shaken up from this conversation, could only tremble more, this time in horror. She felt the blood leave her face and her knees buckle as she sought her deck seat for support. She knew that, any moment, she could fall over with grief and/or fear if she didn't do something for herself and her family.

Her voice became soft, frightened like a child. "Grissom, I don't know…I just want to have…"

The front door was forced open before Maggie could request anything. A figure in black entered with a gun in his hands, staring at the C.S.I. There was no face to describe to Grissom quickly, but a ski mask that hid everything. The person had covered himself well.

Maggie dropped the phone instantly, hearing it crack on the floor, and was soon fixated on this figure. She heard that her brothers and Grace were shouting in the background…Robbie had opened his door to check out the commotion because he knew that something was wrong…the safety latch of the gun was off, the gun aimed at Maggie. She froze, eyes widening. Her first thoughts were of her family, but at the same time, thinking that she had caused this to come into her brothers' home. So, Maggie did the only thing she could think of to get Grissom to call for help.

"Grissom!" Maggie managed to shriek, calling for help from someone far away, on the other side of the city. The phone was far from her grasp. All she could was hope for the best and that the team could get there soon, not just to rescue her, but to save her family, if they could.


	13. Guilty Already

Grissom could only listen in horror to the shrieks and commotion of the household – doors opening and shutting, shouts from anyone within the vicinity and even a curse from the killer – before he could call for help. As soon as he heard Maggie scream in complete horror as a gun went off, he dropped his office phone. Picking it back up to hear for some noise and to figure the scene out, Grissom found silence. He disconnected the dead call.

Stunned, Grissom got onto another line – to Brass – within seconds after Maggie had called for help, in her own stupid way. "Jim, call the police force immediately. We've got a two-oh-seven, possibly a forty-four and a thirty-four at the O'Keefe place. Get backups on the double!" He then hung up, called nine-one-one for an ambulance and a report of the incident before going to assemble the other C.S.I.s.

Grissom knew that he had to work quickly. As he walked the hallways of headquarters to gather his team, he, with guilt, pondered what he had done to Maggie, knowing in his heart that he could have prevented the incident if he took her off the case and put her and her family into protective custody. Most certainly, the guilty feelings were for listening to himself – common sense and assumption – and not the evidence. The evidence spoke, many times, of the killer coming back. The killings of the Holidays proved it somewhat, but with the DNA matching the same person, it all linked back to the O'Keefe family.

Again, he could have protected his fellow C.S.I. and Maggie knew it too. She knew this so well, but never asked for it out of fear (_Of discovery…of what?_). She was possibly going to ask for it at the last phone call before she was interrupted. She was his responsibility, like every other C.S.I. on the night shift. He and Catherine debated, for a few days, whether or not to get her off the case and decided against it, knowing that Maggie would go ahead and do as she pleased, anyhow. Catherine handed her the list of addresses on their last talk and, that same day, she was assaulted.

Grissom also knew that, like Holly Gribbs, Maggie might be killed on the job by a crazed killer who might strike again. _He might even being striking C.S.I. Headquarters next. He could stop it nothing to stop the Force from finding him. The killer has done enough already._

Grissom didn't want to think of that possibility ever again because nothing but human speculation and fear told him that. However, the stakes were up once more and he couldn't gamble it all away. He had to play the game and to play it right or else, another life will be snuffed out.

Walking quickly…_too_ quickly…Grissom didn't even notice Catherine was at his side at once, Sara at the other. Both were confused, Sara speaking first. "Grissom, what's going on? Why is there an emergency all of a sudden?" she inquired.

Catherine was equally distressed at Grissom's full guilty and hurt face, which was apparent on the supervisor's face. "Yes, Grissom, what's going on?" she also asked. "We got an alert to get going. We apparently got an emergency on our hands and no details."

"It's a code red at the O'Keefe's place," Grissom replied urgently. "Our suspect has broken their house."

By then, Warrick has joined the threesome, already approaching the elevator that led to the ground floor. He, too, was confused, but carried his kit with him because he was called to. "Hey, Gris, Brass had just told me about –"

"Yes, Maggie's house has been broken into, our suspect has possibly done his worst," Grissom retorted. He had been guilty enough that he didn't do enough to help Maggie, but had to repeat himself and remind himself about what he could and _should_ have done.

But Grissom also had another thing to do. He needed to know about Maggie's "best friend" at C.S.I. in the months she had been with them: Nick Stokes.

The two were very close – to Grissom, possibly and most likely a couple, if they themselves don't know it already – and Grissom was concerned that Nick would be overwrought and anxious because of the situation. He's been giving Maggie the cold shoulder as of late, possibly because of his fear of her or the fact that he's too distracted and doesn't know what to do or say, and it helped to ward off Ecklie, but it won't be for long.

_He can't work on the case at all, if I can help it. It hits him on a personal level and it is way too close to Maggie O'Keefe._ This was also something Grissom was dreading about the emotional C.S.I.: how was he to tell him that his "girlfriend" and colleague had her house broken into and that she and her family were possibly murdered by the same person who killed their parents, the Holidays and maybe more, if the team can find out.

"Has Nick been informed?" Grissom asked finally as the elevator opened and the foursome entered the metal encasing. The C.S.I.s went inside, the door closed and still, there was no answer.

There was silence until Sara spoke. "Is that why he left with Brass?" she asked quickly. "They left awfully fast a few minutes ago."

Grissom was silent for the ride down. Then: "We'd better get going…for Maggie's sake."He led the group out of the elevator as the doors opened to the ground floor. The four, with kits in their hands, ignored the commotion near the detectives' offices and headed out to the parking lot.


	14. Kidnapped

_She never knew any worse pain than this, even before, a long time ago, when she was sent away to the institution. The physical pain was nothing to her. The emotional may have left her with no choice but to try to kill herself. But here…here, she was encouraged to go all the way. And she wanted to. She wanted to die._

_All she knew was that she was fighting the intruder when he entered her home…Oh God, the murderer…and he stabbed her somehow, someway, as they fought up the stairs of her home and into her bedroom. She stabbed him back with his own weapon someplace…on the stairs, or was it in the bedroom? She could not tell._

_Was this Harry Pit, or even some random person he sent, the apprentice Grissom had suggested at the Holidays' murder scene? Whoever he was, she also wounded him with a music disk she was copying for Nick when he tried to attack again, after going off her brothers, nephew and even sister-in-law. She sliced his forehead as he stabbed her with some knife. She needed to leave something behind for someone to find. It was the only to help bring justice to her family. She could, at least, leave something of her behind._

_Then the intruder took her away someplace as he controlled her, raped her and degraded her in any way possible. She had never felt any lower than she had in her life._

_She didn't know time and she didn't know the places…the blurs…that she was seeing. She remembered water and climbing up something rough, her rapist pushing her into something warm and flexible and…_

_Nick…_

_She knew he'd worry as he always did, in his own way. She wanted to hold onto it, hold onto something that would help her, but it failed. The images of Nick almost faded into the blackness she saw behind her eyes, the rippling tides of pain she felt, heaving in and out, just like her breathing. It was just as natural, too. But it would not catch a killer._

_She left the disk with the blood of the intruder. Hopefully, it'll get Grissom (who could also be a witness to the crime, albeit far away) and the others a good start in solving her potential murder, if they could not find anything else. She knew better and could have left more evidence for the others to follow, just in case they find her wherever she could be, but could not help the team anymore_

_There was more evidence for them to follow, somehow, if they find it in time. Somehow, she cut some of her clothing off on a tree (that rough thing she was forced to climb). She didn't know how it happened, either. She possibly was too drugged up to notice…or was it her mind? Was she going insane with grief and obsession? She hoped not, but knew, soon enough, she might as well be. She's crazy enough to be instituted again. Obsession was a thing to put someone away for, right?_

_She felt blood leave her wrist as some skin ripped. It left a sharp pain in her arm. It can be another piece of evidence that Grissom can have of her. It might prove more interesting than his insects…or human beings._

_Somehow, she knew that she'll never be home again, never see another light of day or see the stars of night. She'll never see Eddie and Christopher or even Robbie again. Nick is gone and even the C.S.I. team seemed so far away in her memories, hard as she tried to bring them back so that she could remember something of her past. They needed as much evidence from her as possible. Or, was it really possible?_

_Her feelings seemed gone. She felt numb of everything at last. So, she let herself into the forbidden blackness. It was the only thing she could do, anyhow. Or, was it her submission to the killer? She could never know._


	15. You Can't Hide Your Feelings Anymore

Nick had already seen the crime scene (there was no doubt in his mind that it was soon going to be the murder scene, but not the final one possibly), but had not processed it, when Grissom, Sara, Catherine and Warrick came in the Tahoe minutes after he drove out with Brass. He hoped to get there before the others – to see if the police reports were true – and to see the damage himself.

He was devastated, either way, and blamed himself for everything that happened, although it could have easily handed in Grissom's lap. Nobody had been keeping track of Maggie and when attention had finally been paid to her, it was too late. The killer had tracked her down and murdered her.

Brass had already interviewed the neighbors who saw the prowler or heard some sort of noise. They said that, like they saw on the TV about the Holidays' murders, it was possibly the same tall, thickset man in black, his face hidden by a black ski mask. (_Or was this wishful thinking on their part?_ Brass thought). The "killer" struggled with Maggie inside as he entered the front door and went to the first room (one of the neighbors saw through the windows, which were clean, without curtains, and transparent, Brass noted when he investigated the area when talking to the neighbor) until he ran out the front door with her over his shoulder. The suspect had no vehicle in sight (tire tracks were spotted by another neighbor a few minutes later), but had run down the street, trying to shoot those inside Maggie's home as he carried the body with him. The shots had exploded some of the window panes, showing how much of a good shot the person had been.

Maggie's brothers, future sister-in-law and nephew were stunned lightly and already taken away by ambulance because of injuries. _Shunned lightly meaning shot and stabbed with a chance of living_, Nick thought bitterly as he saw the ambulances roll away, sirens blaring their usual red and blue hues. He turned to watch Brass interview the neighbors again and, feeling helpless, went to the elderly couple next door to ask questions.

"Anything else you saw?" Nick asked for what seemed to be the millionth time to these people.

Jamie Farrow, the fairly elderly neighbor who knew the family since their final move to Vegas over a decade ago, was sniffling and was close to crying. She was obviously distraught over the incident and especially how this all is related to the murder of her friends, Michael and Julie O'Keefe, twelve years ago.

"Nothing," the teary and distressed neighbor, Jamie, said, "other than what I told you already. I saw the person everybody had looking for and called the police as soon as I could. Nobody answered until someone at the station called the proper authorities." Her husband (the name escaped Nick for the moment) came up to his wife, rubbed her shoulders and tried to calm her down. The attempt failed, so the elderly man led his wife back to their home, trying hard not to let her break down.

Nick sighed and thought about the incident as he looked back at the house, without being there, and tried to reconstruct the scene without being there. Just by looking at the scene beforehand, without processing any evidence and searching, he knew that there was a fight on the stairs and in her room, a broken phone and four family members affected in their fight to save each other. Maggie was most likely kidnapped and God knew what else happened and where she was.

The C.S.I. went back to the house and was sitting on the front stoop of the house outside, losing himself in thought when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. It was Grissom with the rest of the team. Nick didn't even notice that the others had gone around him and had already headed into the house to investigate the gruesome scene he left behind and didn't bother to process.

"Nicky, leave now," Grissom said as he sat with Nick on the stoop. "We'll process the scene further. Go home."

"But –" Nick began.

"Nick, please leave now," Grissom continued to urge. "You've been through too much and it hits too close to home. Go _home_. Come back tomorrow night so that we can talk. You can't take a walk and forget it this time."

"All right, Grissom." Nick felt as if he was in a daze, a zombie. He managed to get up from the stoop and headed back to the Taurus, only to find Brass in there already in the drivers' seat, ready to drive back to Headquarters. But Nick knew, as he climbed into the passengers' side with no words said to Brass, that he couldn't get the images of the stairs…her room…the study…even the shattered glass in the kitchen and tool room…out of his head.

And when they find that bastard that did this to Maggie, her family and the Holidays, there was going to be hell to pay to get Nick off of him. He already felt his feelings for Maggie come forth again, feelings that he had been ignoring for so long. He didn't like to admit them to too many people – not even Maggie – but, this time, he might be saved from another emotional meltdown. He could forget about his feelings and not bother with it again.

However, Nick also knew that it was useless to hide them. _Dammit…_


	16. An End was Near

Grissom slowly opened the door to the house, already noticing that it was the front room to the right of the door, the stairs ahead and the center bedroom, out of the five upstairs, that appeared to be the scene of a struggle. _Or more than one_, he noted as he saw half of a body outline, in blood, at the very base of the stairs (it was labeled already, but was not processed), not knowing which body it could be – the killer or Maggie.

He saw that Catherine was already in the bedroom upstairs with Sara taking pictures and noting the numerous pools of blood. Warrick was already in the study to the right of Grissom, piecing together the broken phone and the laptop. Nick had already done his job – coming to the scene and interviewing the neighbors with Brass – but had not done anything to help.

Grissom sighed. With Nick out of the way and Brass going back to C.S.I. to type up statements and have them ready to sign, he had a single task ahead of him: to process the scenes of the traumatic incident while his team helped to investigate. This left him the stairs, which materialize as the next point in the moments of struggle after the study.

Using his MagLite, Grissom lit the stairwell brightly, ignoring the light switch to his right, as it was already deemed as non-working by Sara earlier. There, he looked at the evidence.

There were a boots' prints overlapping a dirty barefoot one (the killer's over Maggie's, possibly, or vice versa). Many prints were in blood, more so than the usual dirt and dog hair on the stairs (Warrick already reported that the family dog had been killed as well and its body was in the backyard). To Grissom's left, there was a railing, splattered in blood, possibly from the attack to the right.

And there had been an attack, all right. There was no doubt about it. The wall's plaster chipped away and was covered with blood; it was as if the suspect staked the victim to the wall or vice versa. Grissom looked carefully at appeared to be the first attack and could almost picture it in his mind.

_The supposed killer, already angry about Maggie's undying efforts to close her parents' and the Holidays' murder cases and bring him to justice, was also realizing that he was becoming more and more careless with his murders and made many mistakes. He left more evidence than he thought he did, seeing as how he was in the system and the DNA was readily within reach. So, the logical motives right now is to kill the person, perhaps make her suffer because depression can disable the mind forever._

_He enters the house, for he remembered where it was, through the front door as Maggie is talking to Grissom on the phone. He makes his usual entrance – killing the animals of the house and banging open the door and shooting an empty shell – and surprises his prey. She drops the phone, screams to tell Grissom on the other side about the attack and tries to defend herself and eventually her family. The killer stuns her, causing her to be disabled for a moment, and went after her family, shooting and stabbing them as they came towards the noise to investigate._

_Maggie gets up, accelerated to get the killer to stop, but met her match. She got pushed from the kitchen back to the stairs, where the killer leaves the body of her nephew. The battle then moves up those stairs where, as she is defending, the killer takes out a sword and stabs the woman in the side or chest – maybe through another part – and sticks her to the wall. She resists, sending a spray of blood on the railing before struggling with the sword and taking it out with her remaining strength. She, in a waterfall of blood, catfights the killer and stabs him to the wall with his own weapon, crawling for her life to her room, where she is finally captured._

_As the supposed killer carries his unconscious target down the stairs – the fight had rendered her tired, weak and, through a major loss of blood, dying – he hears the neighbors. He knew, then and there, that he had to hurry up, so that he could not be caught at all._

_There could not be a second mistake. The killer takes the body up and runs out the broken door, dragging Maggie's dead weight around as if it were nothing. There was no getaway car in sight, but the killer knew better than to leave in within sight. For sure, he had a place for the car, hidden from public view. He also had the materials needed to put the body to rest, leaving no evidence behind._

"Grissom!" Sara's voice woke Grissom from his imaging, things that he knew he could not afford to do. "Catherine and I have more evidence of struggle up here. She must have put up a good fight. There're pools of blood everywhere and it looks like hers, except for this disc here."

"Maggie must have slashed her 'visitor' with it to stall him a few minutes before collapsing. It most likely has the killer's blood on it," Catherine called down.

_If some of this blood isn't the killer's, then she might be dead by now, with all of this blood. _"Then our killer has an engraving or mark somewhere, possibly and most likely to the forehead," Grissom answered from his position at the bottom of the stairs. "It's a common spot on the face to leave a mark and it's an easy target. The other place would be one of his cheeks."

Warrick stuck his head out of the study's doorway. "Hey, Gris, that isn't the only thing about the killer. There're fingerprints and boot prints all _over_ the place! The boot prints are obviously from the killer –"

"How do we know, though?" Grissom asked. His impatience with repeating himself about the evidence was well-known. Warrick knew this, too, and showed and explained fast.

Warrick held out a ripped female t-shirt, about Maggie's petite size, with a muddy footprint on the front. "She must have been kicked to knock her off and disable her if the killer wanted to get to her family fast. But Sara's right: she put up a _good_ fight."

"How so?" Grissom asked again. He raised his eyebrow.

"Well," Warrick shot back. "According to Catherine, there has been blood spatter to the walls from Maggie. She was alive then because of its spread. But that isn't all we've found. It also looks as if the killer was going to destroy the computer here too because the screen to the laptop has been destroyed. The phone's been tampered with, too. It's been crushed to bits. It might have been initially cracked when it was dropped, but I can't know that until we get back to the lab. We might be able to piece it back together to get a print."

"Indeed," Grissom said just as his cell phone tweeted. "Grissom here…at the park? All right, Jim, be there as soon as we're done." He pressed END on his phone and gazed back at the other curious C.S.I.s that were gathering at the stairway, their evidence bagged and their kits in the other hand. "There has been a suspicious person at Lion Memorial Park. Brass says that someone was spotted someone carrying a woman on his back with a sleeping bag around her body. The person phoned Headquarters and Brass caught the call in time to investigate the incident."

"That could be our killer!" Sara exclaimed, waving her evidence bags.

"Not exactly," Warrick said as he came out of the study. "There are enough people in this city who would want to do that. It could be another crime. They could hide it, too."

"But then again," Catherine interjected, "how many would _do_ that?"

"Ok, ok," Grissom said. "We need to still get to the situation at hand. Brass would get back to us about the activity in the park as soon as possible and we can get back to the evidence. There might not be any hope, according to the evidence, that Maggie survived, but we can still bring the killer to justice."

"I just hope Nick's taking this…" Catherine began, but she trialed her thought. She then turned around and went back to work, with Sara following her upstairs, immediately. She only thought the unthinkable, something she dared not say in front of the others. _I don't think Nick will ever be all right after this_.

~00~

_The forbidden blackness hurt her. She wanted to come back to life, but she was not allowed to._

_She felt herself traveling, being lifted and carried away, without a will of her own. There were police sirens, she heard them. She wanted to scream for help and be taken away from this person. He abused her, teased her, and knew when not to stop. She tried to scream again, but was too weak to._

_They were at some park, in the woods, and were about a mile or so from where the noise – the police sirens – was coming from. So, she tried to yell for help. She wanted it so badly. She wanted the pain to stop. She wanted her mind to stop reeling. She was worried. All she could do was reach out, but it was so far away._

_But it was he who smashed her fingers and silenced her pleas and screams for help by putting duct tape on her mouth and wrapping her legs and arms with old electric cords. She knew the fingers were broken and that it was almost useless to make use of them. How can she untie herself? Wasn't that now the point?_

_It was also he who turned her around and controlled her mind. As soon as he took her away from the wooded areas and went deeper into the desert outside of the city, he sought to control her. She knew it wasn't the invisible force that went there, the same that she had been controlling her medication and constant moderating, but him; he slipped further into her mind and body and would not stop telling her how everything is useless. She couldn't take it any further and wanted the end to come. It was humiliating._

_When she finally dared to open her eyes – it must have been days later – she saw a blinding white light. She looked to her new surroundings – they had traveled together once more and she knew this – and sought a way to escape, but there wasn't. It took a while to adjust to everything, but soon enough, everything came into view._

_When she adjusted to the light more and saw him, she saw the gun she knew he carried being pointed at her, but this time it wasn't to threaten like every other time she awoke and struggled. She noticed that she was wet and bleeding (hurting?) again in some swampy area somewhere far away from Vegas. She looked down – to keep telling herself it was some nightmare, but it was not – and said a silent prayer. The end was near. That was certain enough._

_When she looked again, she saw the dark figure. He was fingering the gun and aiming it at her still. He sought to shoot her and she somehow didn't care anymore. She turned numb as the gun went off for a final time._


	17. The Final Reports

Jim Brass was sitting in his office at C.S.I., thinking about what had happened during the night already. It was a long night already, what, with all of the evidence at the O'Keefe residence, seeing to the other family members at the hospital, typing up reports and statements and taking in calls. It seemed like the whole Force – especially those who were around for over a decade – was helping to find the killer.

He had gotten that call from a Vegas police force from Lion Park, took off in the Taurus from the O'Keefe place, dropped Nick off at Headquarters (Grissom had wanted him to go home and sleep, but, knowing Nick, it was not going to happen) and headed out with some reinforcements. And after searching the park with a team of men combing the wooded area, all Jim Brass found was a sleeping bag with obvious semen stains in it, some ripped clothing in a tree (denim) and a small blood trial near the tree where the clothing was. All of it was being processed in the crime lab at the present time, along with the prints, blood and compact disc from the house itself.

As he reviewed the evidence and the result from everything the C.S.I.s found, Brass found himself back in his office, typing. The wearied detective thought of the past. _After all this, we better bag that son of a bitch,_ he thought.

Brass sought his memories and then remembered the young Maggie O'Keefe when her parents were murdered. Hell, he even knew her father, Officer Michael O'Keefe, first in New Jersey and then in this part of Las Vegas. The man talked of nothing but his children, especially "Sweet Maggie." His daughter was his pride and joy and to just to see her out of that institution thrilled him. He talked of nothing but of her visits, upcoming or past, and even brought the silent, sullen child to the station sometimes, on a rare occasion when Julie was gone shopping or playing bridge with her friends, the Farrows, next door.

_She always hid behind his legs, too, come to think of it. She was always a shy person, but after some time away, I've noticed that she's a bit mouthy to her superiors, cocky about her work and, for once, happy to be doing something she loves. Her parents' murder hit her, Eddie and Chris harder than it did to the Force. Robbie had been too young to remember, but knows that something was up. I know he suffers for it sometimes._

The last time Brass saw the almost-retired cop (as Michael liked to say a lot) around, it was the day after New Year's (he was typically paying visits to everybody in the Force, even on his days off). Michael was talking about the time when he could see Maggie in a real high school and away from the institution for the first time. It was going to be her first real year in Las Vegas without having to go away for a period of time, knowing that she'll have a stable year ahead of her.

That, of course, was the night before his eventual murder, during a two-week vacation.

_If he had worked that evening instead of staying at home with Julie and the kids, he'd be alive today. He might even be retired and working with the Force anyway and he'd do it for the hell of it. If it had only be Julie murdered that night, he'd stop it nothing to make sure the killer was brought to justice, just as her daughter is doing, or trying, to do._

Of course, it was not to be. Twelve years later, as his daughter begs to bring the killer to justice, she is kidnapped and another family in Vegas, like hers, is dead, but under slightly different circumstances. _Dammit._

Brass got up to go outside, intent on smoking another cigarette (the pack had been laying in his desk drawer for some time). _I should have just kept on the band wagon_, he thought as he put his coat on, grabbed the pack from the drawer and went outside. Then, he had another thought as he felt the chilly October Vegas air: Karen Pit. _Or is it Napolitano? I'll never know._

Instead of that cigarette he was craving earlier, Brass went back inside, put the pack back on his desk and grabbed another detective for back-up, O'Riley, and went to Alloy Street, intent on receiving more word on little, sneaky Harry. The wife should know more than anybody else.

~00~

Nick couldn't sense anything but a feeling of helplessness the entire time he had know about the crime. It had been almost a week since the kidnapping and there hasn't been any evidence that has pointed him in the direction of Maggie (alive) or her dead body. While her family healed in the hospital, fearing for Maggie's life and in anger for the danger she brought into their lives, the team worked endlessly to find _anything_, but had not other than who had done the crimes, linking all three cases – the O'Keefe and Holidays' murders and Maggie's kidnapping and her family's assault – together. Nick, frustrated more than anybody else, felt it, because of how close he felt to Maggie.

Grissom and the rest of the team had, sadly, come up with the story of what happened at the O'Keefe's place. They had also confirmed that the clothing and the blood found was Maggie's and that the semen in the sleeping bag matched their killer. Long, black strands of hair in the sleeping bag turned out to be Maggie's as well. Not to mention, they mapped out possible routes that the killer took Maggie, but every search turned out with no more evidence. All parks, schools and all other possible places in Vegas had been searched, even the killer's home. There was no more evidence.

As Nick sat in his office, moping and fuming almost (despite everything) about not being able to do anything, he flipped through the reports, the evidence and the places where Maggie might have been (Grissom had, with hesitation, handed him the paperwork after he begged for it after a few days). Maggie's place of residence, where there had been a struggle (or more, according to Grace, Eddie and Christopher and the evidence, which even supported them) was filled with the sick scent of her blood intertwined with the killer's, now on file because of the compact disc she slashed him with.

Ironically, the music disc (being known as such after the lab techs played with it, wiping the blood off beforehand) was the same one she was copying for Nick, something from her music collection he found interesting: _The Who: Who's Next_. She had played the album once, when he had come over, and it stuck in his mind. She was going to give it to him after her night off, but, obviously, she didn't have the chance.

_So, it was at Lion Park was where Maggie was probably seen last alive._ A sleeping bag with semen from the killer, Harry Pit, was found there along with some of her black hair, ripped from her head in small chucks as if it was a sick joke (the lab techs told him it was strands, but, seeing the reports, he knew they lied to protect him or were ordered to). Of course, there was blood, both hers and his (in small amounts, as if she had attacked him somehow). The blood from each member of the family – the future sister-in-law included – was separated from the rest.

It was still sickening to know that Maggie was raped by someone who killed not only her parents but the Holidays and possibly her. With the amount of blood found in the sleeping bag and the surrounding perimeter, it was highly possible that Maggie was dead, after all.

It was all a matter now of finding her or her body, wherever she is. _It's most likely going to be a body. There's no doubt about it._


	18. Grissom's Rare Meeting

Grissom had called a rare meeting of all the C.S.I.s from the graveyard shift, including Doc Robbins, Greg Sanders and Jim Brass. The subject was, obviously, the abduction and possible murder of Margaret O'Keefe and the murder of the Holidays and the O'Keefe parents, of course.

At that point, Grissom – with the evidence and the proof via DNA – considered all three cases connected and committed by the same person. That one person was intertwined with the families, in some way. It was their next step to capturing the killer.

Grissom came into the meeting room to a group of intense people. Both Catherine and Sara were looking saddened by their affair, for they have grown an attachment to the quiet C.S.I., but Sara looked more impatient than Catherine to get going with the meeting, as she was with almost everything else. Jim Brass and Doc Robbins were fiddling with their notes, the latter's metal crutch leaning against his chair.

And then there was Nick. Since the kidnapping the week before, he had been just quiet and angry (Grissom had caught him, hours ago, pacing Maggie's office and finding her notes about the murders, furiously mumbling to himself about the killer), always the emotional one of the team of C.S.I.s. Nick himself had not said a word about the cases and has not even tried to involve himself with anything, not even helping with fibers and the carpet samples, his specialty. He only visited Maggie's office constantly, looking around and mumbling, and showed nothing more.

Nick's good friend, Warrick, next to the distraught friend, was equally depressed. Grissom knew there were a lot of things going on in Warrick's life – recovering from a gambling problem, finding out that he could not help the people who mattered the most in another case, trying to piece his life back together – and that there was almost nobody he could lean up. He soldiered onward, silently, and confined in no one, not even Catherine, the person he usually went to after Nick.

It seemed that Greg was the only one who was bouncy and happy to be here, possibly in a frenzy to show himself off and get off to the field. Grissom had been debating when to get him started, already letting him off on assignment, but the meeting was not the time to think about it. _I'm sure he has more evidence to tell us about, though._

Grissom started the meeting as soon as he put his own notes on the table and seated himself. "All right, everyone, we have the evidence and a clear picture on most, if not all, of it, of what had happened. We also still have some unanswered questions. Does anyone wish to enlighten me with some of the results they've found?"

It was like a classroom with students that didn't wish to answer a question, except it was C.S.I.s who didn't wish to share the sad results they saw. Catherine, however, who saw an opportunity, was the first to move and she knew that she had to be the first to. She was the one who estimated and calculated where and whose blood was splattered around in the house, so she started.

"The blood on the stairs and on the walls, floors and ceiling match those of both the killer, which is what we have determined him as, and the victim, Maggie," Catherine explained slowly. "The stains on the walls of the hallway are consistent of that of a fight that ended in both of them stabbing each other with the same magician's sword, which has been found by Ecklie's team when they took a look, so to speak, at searching her bedroom for more evidence. They haven't found much other than this."

Catherine almost looked annoyed at the mention of Ecklie and his daytime team, but continued anyhow, citing evidence from her notes in front of her. "Also, both sets of blood have been splattered from constant defense wounds, so it wouldn't be a surprise to find blood under both sets of nails. The stains in the bedroom are from another struggle. Ecklie's team also found black residue on the walls in the hallway, as if there was gunfire right next to the wall. And, of course, there was a thin line of blood on the wall near the door. That, I believe, was from the disk."

"But we don't want to assume anything," Grissom said afterward, a look of approval almost on his face.

As if on cue, Warrick added, "But it is safe to assume that the bloody prints from the stairs are from both the killer and the victim. Her bare feet in the blood pools left skin and thus, our DNA samples. The killer was tougher, for we had to grab every shoe in the house to find a match and there was none. However, we concluded that the killer wore boots, size thirteen in men's, so I have also searched the stores for this certain type of shoe. I did find it and hit a perfect match. Some chain store in California put them out and there were only a hundred pairs sold, about ten of them here in Vegas. The line was dropped afterward because of low sales, but it narrows down our search. Our 'suspect', in all of the murders, was one of ten people who bought the shoe. He paid with a credit card, which soon became a dead account, deleted after the boots were bought. The company has complained that the suspect reported a lost card, but has not requested a new one or a new account. They thought it was stranger that he closed it."

Grissom, nodding at another piece of evidence, then turned to Sara, whose specialty was element and material analysis. "The disk was used as a weapon," she confirmed as Grissom looked at her, almost blushing, but controlling everything. "The fingerprints, skin and blood matched the victim and the blood matched the killer. The killer's DNA also matched those from the murders of the Holidays and the O'Keefes twelve years ago."

"So, we're looking at another murder?" Robbins shifted uncomfortably in his seat when asking his question. It was a sore topic that everybody has been avoiding and has been avoiding for some time. Although they've been referring to each as killer and victim (with the exception of Warrick), it's an ultimatum that they're all willing and have to accept.

"Most likely," Brass spoke up quietly, answering the question for everybody. "With the victim and killer missing, it's a possibility that the killer hitchhiked out of town and dumped the body someplace."

Suddenly, everyone in the conference room turned their attention to Brass, who shrugged his shoulders and took out his notepad. "I have talked with the 'supposed' killer's wife," Brass continued, "who is already distraught over this disappearance, but she isn't that worried. Her husband had been missing for two weeks. The missus didn't think of it unusual, because of the jobs and such, but thought that the past few weeks he was home that he was acting strangely enough, for a perverted magician, that is. It seems that old Harry Pit – real name, Jason Napolitano – has been known to hitchhike, rape and then leave his victims out someplace remote, before they came back to Vegas to confront him."

Brass coughed. "Missus also thought that it was all right, so it seemed. She didn't seem to mind anything except the murders and the cheating, just as long as she's not getting hurt and neither are the kids, who are fine without their father. She didn't know about the murders, but the cheating, and was thinking about divorcing the bastard anyway because she was sick of him being in the news.

"The thing is that she didn't even bother to call the cops every time it happened and gave enough compensation to the victims to make them keep quiet. She also says that she felt bad about them and needed to do something for all of them. She felt the pain of every one of the girls because she was one of those them at one time. Instead, though, she became pregnant and was forced to marry Jason Napolitano, on the insistence of her parents."

"You mean, just as long as the bastard got away with it and she doesn't become part of the controlled, then she's fine." Nick talked bitterly, the first thing he said in the duration of the meeting. "She's fine with it. She's fine with everything, but felt all bad about it. But at the same, she didn't call for help and make it _stop_. This could not have happened if she actually stopped to think and called the police. Then, Jason Napolitano or Harry Pit or _whatever_ his name is, would be in jail and then, when we investigated the murders, we could have nabbed him. The Holidays would still be alive and so would Maggie. Her mind would be at peace, and so would every person in Vegas, and we would have had a closed case."

The rest of the crew just turned their attention from Brass to Nick, who showed no signs of embarrassment, but of anger still. There was silence, even from Grissom, who knew how angry Nick was already. The other team members were not as surprised. Nick, when emotional, could turn harsh and livid, putting his attentions upon solving a case by myself and pushing people away.

Grissom gently resumed the meeting and tried to break the tension, ignoring the abrupt outburst as best as he could. He needed everyone to focus more on the task at hand and to calm Nick down later on, gently saying, "All right, everyone, so we have a place where the killer and victim were. We know this character has had no trouble until his minor offense and with this recent investigation, we have evidence that he has done murder and now, kidnapping. Where do we go from here? And more importantly, what do we know about the suspect? How can we trap him?"

"For one thing, he likes to control his victims before striking," Warrick started. "From what Brass said, he started with his current wife and could have used the same strategy with his other victims."

"Control them how?" Grissom asked.

"How about scare tactics and finding weaknesses?" Catherine asked in return, her eyes animated with ideas. "We suggested beforehand that he could have scared Maggie into coming back to Las Vegas because of her family. He could have threatened her. He could have even stalked her without knowledge."

"Both of which were used in this case, and probably in the case of the Holidays," Greg added excitedly. "But we don't know with the Holidays or if it was a random killing, so the murder could have been committed to scare Maggie and remind her of her parents."

"Records do show that the killer has been a prankster, local pimp and charmer," Brass said. "So we know that in each rape case, he used all of them to lure the women: scare tactics, finding weaknesses, stalking and striking. I have yet to talk with the other victims, but the Missus indicates that she has a list of them that came to her, with addresses and numbers."

"But the question remains of how he linked himself to Maggie's family and untimely, her," Warrick challenged.

"Well," Brass started with a smile to his face, "Maggie's father was part of the L.V.M.P.D. for the short time he was here in Vegas and was going to be retiring within the next year or so, as was stated to me in a conversation we had a day before he was murdered." Brass smiled, as if he had another surprise for his co-workers. "Las Vegas is also a place of teenaged troublemakers and drinkers. Is it just coincidence, then, that our Jason Napolitano was caught by one of our police cops, Michael O'Keefe, in December 1989, when the offender was sixteen years old and driving drunk and without a license?" Brass smiled again. "It may not be on record because Michael had a soft spot for the kid, but it sure as hell can't be entirely erased from the files completely."

"But this can't just be a case of childish revenge for getting caught drinking and driving underage," Sara urged. "I mean, look and imagine this: a stupid teenager who just wants to kill somebody's parents because he was caught by one, being the police officer, doing something reckless. It's strange and almost senseless."

"There have been stranger," Greg volunteered again, obviously enjoying his spot in the light. He, too, seemed to have something nobody else had, and found an opportunity to say it. "Remember, the main motives for killing somebody are usually for love, sex, money and drugs. There could have not been a love relationship with between Maggie and the 'suspect'. Everyone, who worked on the Force back then, knew that she accused him of molesting her in high school, according to the police records in 1992 that do not name an offender, but point in our 'suspect's' direction."

Greg paused and smiled, adding, "Our 'suspect' was considered a sexual fiend, but it doesn't fit into the scheme of the murders. Drugs weren't exactly in the picture because he wasn't a big drug user, but a drinker. Our suspect was abandoned when he was born and left to foster care and still lives in the same place he's been living in for his whole life except for a brief time. He never seems to run out of money, but then again, he likes his humble beginnings."

The lab rat was almost breathless with excitement, asking the ultimate question to the other members of the team: "Could it be that we have a missing link in his abandonment case? Could it be a case, not of revenge or drugs and money, but of love and obsession?"

"It's all possible, but the evidence hasn't pointed us in that direction yet," Grissom reminded Greg. "It's only an assumption."

"But it could get worse if we don't get moving," Brass said. "It doesn't matter if we have assumptions or not. Something is better than nothing."

"Yes," Grissom replied almost thoughtfully as everyone thought, for a split second, that an educated guess being formed by the supervisor of their shift. They were, in any case, wrong and let him order what was going to be done next. "Greg, you and Warrick can check the child custody records of the killer, since you have kindly created an 'educated guess' about him. Brass can help you track down the people you need to talk to. Catherine and Sara, you two dig deeper into the original case from 1991 and try to find more connection between that and the present ones. There might be something we missed, but Maggie wrote down. Check her office for her notes, if they are still there."

Doc Robbins knew what Grissom needed of him, so he immediately headed out without a word. Nick, who was not assigned anything yet, was about to head out when Brass's cell phone rang, almost as if it was out of place.

Brass answered in his usual quiet tone, listened and muttered, "Mead Lake? Be there in fifteen minutes." He broke the connection and said to a stunned room, "There is more suspicious activity at Lake Mead with our killer, and this time, I think he has dumped the body. Witnesses, hikers really, saw a man throwing what looked like a body towards the lake's shore and called police afterward. They have a partial plate number, a car type and even a description of the person."

"Head out then and help Warrick and Greg later then," Grissom said to Brass. "Talk with the witnesses and see if we can get a connection here."

A split second later, before anyone could deny him, Nick chimed in, "I'm coming too. I'm not standing around here and doing nothing. It's the least I can do, instead of standing around here and worrying."

Everyone, once again, stared at Nick in silence before Grissom nodded his head in almost hesitant approval. Grissom didn't want to do this to Nick – instead, he preferred someone on the daytime shift – but nobody else had the time and everybody had an assignment but Nick. And nobody on Ecklie's shift will answer the call, since none of them liked to log in overtime.

Time almost stood still for everyone afterward except for Nick and Brass, who headed out the doorway quickly. Indeed, there was no time to lose.


	19. A Body at Lake Mead

As Brass drove towards their destination, Nick was already biting his nails, literally. He had not felt so nervous in his life nor had he dreaded something as horrendous as seeing Maggie's body.

Staring out of the darkness that already drifted upon Las Vegas, Nick, as Brass quietly drove besides him, thought about what all this meant to Nick: Maggie, his best friend, had been kidnapped by the same person who murdered her parents and the Holidays (and possibly more). Her body had been carried around place to place and had been seen by witnesses only twice, as far as everyone knew. She had been reported, by the evidence, to have been raped and attacked more. More than likely, she was dead.

For the second time that anyone has seen her, she was going to be dead (if she wasn't the first time she was reported to have been seen) and Nick volunteered, without hesitation, to check it out and see what could be done. He could be processing her lifeless body, checking the evidence again and again, connecting the dots and putting her murderer in bars, if they ever caught up with the sick son of a bitch. Then _viola!_ He had just lost the second "love" of his life, if anybody could call it that. It had been one the greater ones, by far, he mused, ever since the murder of Kristi Hopkins a few years back.

Nick thought. Maggie, like Kristi, wasn't somebody you could just turn away after one night or date on and off like he did with so many times with other women. No, Nick actually found out that Maggie was actually somebody you loved or would love to know. Her quiet and sometimes unrelenting and stubborn manner about working almost drove the ex-jock into her arms the first time they met in the hallway, when she accidentally bumped into him.

_She might have been thinking about something else when we bumped into each other all those months ago – literally – but I seemed to have learned all about her through her actions the first time I saw her. She seemed perfect, untouched almost, although I'm sure she's had plenty of other relationships before. I knew that she had been through a lot of things when she was younger and this, for once, was her big chance to be happy. She _was_ happy for the longest time until this one case consumed her. She did her job and did it well, but there was something about her that made her seemed disturbed, especially after seeing the Holidays dead. Otherwise, she was fine._

Nick loved Maggie for who she was and hadn't even realized that he loved him deeply until she was kidnapped and gone.

People in the lab may have considered them a couple, but they themselves had not said anything about it. Indeed, the two had not said their true feelings to each other at all. After so many popcorn fights during movies, naps in her bed, times playing his play station and games of football, Nick looked back at all of it and realized how much they enjoyed each others' company. However, a relationship together would destroy either, if not both, of their careers. And Nick was not certain if he wanted another one, especially after Kristi, even if he knew how much he was in love with someone.

Brass, in the meantime, was concentrating on the darkening roads more, but he did notice Nick staring out the window aimlessly. "Are you going to be all right doing this?" Brass asked. It was more of a question Grissom had usually asked his team, so changed tactics. "Do you want me to call somebody else in? It's not too late to drop you off back at Headquarters. I could turn around right now."

Nick didn't realize that Brass talked to him until his voice registered in his mind a few seconds later. "Huh? No, I'm fine. I can take this. I don't mind."

Brass nodded, almost feeling this pain as much as Nick did, and knew on the whim that Nick was lying when he said that he didn't mind. _Hell, everybody loved Maggie, and you can't deny it_, Brass thought. Even Grissom looked after her in his own way after her parents' murder, even remarking once in a great while, before Maggie had moved back to Vegas, if he heard anything of her progress elsewhere in the country (Grissom even followed Maggie when she was in college, as he had known some of her professors). Grissom and Brass were even surprised that she majored in Forensics and Chemistry, but Grissom smiled (_Almost smiled_, Brass thought, nearly laughing in the grave situation) when she minored in Library Sciences, something her mother had done before she had a family.

Brass had no idea what Maggie was doing, but Grissom had some crazy idea. Grissom himself also didn't know what to conclude from Maggie's decision but that of a longing to solve the puzzles of her past, something she wanted to do since she was a child, and solve her parents' murder case after it had happened. It wasn't just a fancy, but an obsession, Grissom thought and had told Brass. But then again, it was in the months that Maggie was at C.S.I. that Grissom thought otherwise, but didn't give Brass the satisfaction of telling him what he thought as to the reasons why. Brass himself thought it was just to prove that she could not break down about anything, but be strong and stand her ground.

They both – Brass and Grissom – also realized and could have praised her for her eagerness to solve cases, follow the evidence and almost in an apostle-like attitude and to conclude puzzles much like Grissom could. _Even if Maggie had not solved the cases like Grissom, she sure as hell followed him in a way that indicated she had her way to solve things and did it with approval. Grissom liked it. She liked to be like him in such a way that pleased him, but made her an individual, thinking with her own mind._

Maggie's relationship with Nick had been kept under wraps (_Did they even make themselves a couple yet?_) and Brass knew it, from the way they locked their eyes into each others' as they separate themselves into different cases, worked nose-to-nose in each department and giggled in the break room, as if they were teenagers in love. Working with somebody from the same place is hard enough, Brass considered, but having a relationship with the other is an entirely unusual universe. It was often discouraged. Everyone knew that it would eventually end terribly, and in this case, Brass knew it was such, especially in this line of work which can get you killed in (he remembered Holly Gribbs briefly, although she was not involved with any member of the team). He didn't know how much of an extent this relationship went to, but however far it went, he knew Nick was very affected by this and it was enough to unglue the usually-emotional C.S.I., who often kept his cool.

Before long, though, the pair had arrived at their destination: Lake Mead. By the time they reached the particular spot at the lake that they needed to be in, the sirens of blue and red flashed in their faces, almost creating a light upon an already-dark situation. The witnesses were already being interviewed as Brass parked the car and he and Nick climbed out of the car.

Immediately, as soon as they saw the face of the police officers and the witnesses, the two of them knew that this was a crime scene and that the victim – Maggie – was dead and gone. The body mass, still in the distance shore, laid there, ready for Nick to look at. Luckily, the body was clothed, just barely, but had nothing to cover the backside or the lower part of the legs. The body had been near the waves of the lake for a period of time and was damp and wrinkled. However, it had been moved by someone and the police and witnesses on the scene swore that it wasn't them that moved it.

_Time will tell_, Nick thought.Grabbing his kit from the back seat of the car, Nick said to Brass, "Let's get this over with." He was going to have to face this nightmare some time or another and that moment was the time to. He had no other choice.

Nick hesitantly went to the body, walking slowly as to prolong Maggie's life in his mind, thinking of her alive, well and laughing. He managed to reach the body though, sprawled almost crookedly on the shores of the lake, and observed her dead body. Maggie, in the death-colored hue of white, was mutilated and violated. She was shot in the left leg; the bullet wound still pouring out small drops of blood.

_This is strange_, Nick thought, making a face, as he started assembling his tools together and put his gloves on. _She must not have been dead for long, a few hours, perhaps._

Maggie also, Nick noticed, had stab wounds to her right side, arms and even in her torso area, _especially_ there (she was impaled there, as well). The ultra-lights Nick pulled out and shone over the body reviled little white patches, a sure sign of rape. He shuddered suddenly, dropping his light, to think that it was Maggie's last moments: rape and then, left to die, wounded.

Nick picked up the light again and put it back in his kit, knowing he had more to do (_I should have brought back-up_). First, he started analyzing the soil around the body and found no footprints or anything out of the ordinary except blood around the body. Nick also found a light trail of blood that led from the shore to the road, where the witnesses stood (or, within their vicinity, more accurately), at one point in the shape and mockery of the body. That part was taped-off from everyone except the criminalist who came on scene. _Bastard_, Nick thought as he looked for more clues.

He then saw another taped-off area and then saw why. There were also dark tire tracks in the road and a small trail the width of the body that the officers on duty already secured and taped off for Nick for further evaluation and photographing. Noting that, Nick turned back to the body, and, gloved, lifted it to its side and saw that it indeed had been dragged recently, but not to the shores of the lake. By dragging the body around, the killer had left a dusty residue on the body's bare backside.

Without angry, murderous thoughts of his own, Nick snapped picture after picture of the scene, taking especial care of the tire tracks, the small area where the body was dragged and the wounds on the body. Behind him, Brass was interviewing the witnesses again (getting the details straightened out), so everyone was busy and preoccupied with the usual business of a kidnapping/murder investigation. Brass was smart enough to know to leave Nick alone and to concentrate on the witnesses more, to keep his mind preoccupied. He, himself, had no wish to see Maggie's dead body and had decided to break the news to her family in the hospital when the time was right.

_I want that murderous bastard behind bars, to give them peace of mind_, he thought angrily as he asked the last witness another series of questions.

Nick, back over at the crime scene, had wanted to be alone when he looked at Maggie's body and appreciated Brass' generosity when he realized how alone he was. He then continued to snap pictures of the body – front, back, head and to the sides – after photographing the main points of the evidence. Then, he straightened the body out, creating the picture-perfect layout of the body, to see a somewhat-peaceful picture of the dead Maggie.

Her arms by her sides, Maggie almost looked as if she was on her bed, laying as still as she could before Nick could wake up and tickle her senseless before she gave in and agreed that she was not sleeping, but waiting for him to wake up. She seemed to _want_ to get up and giggle, once more, as Nick played with and teased her.

Nick then examined her arms, noting what some sharp sword had done after the initial damage the week before. A long, deep line was etched into her wrist and up her arm to her elbow (_Down the road and not across the street_). It was almost as if she had done it to herself, as she had done years before.

The C.S.I., in gloves of course, picked Maggie's left arm up again and with, a finger, traced the wound from her elbow to her wrist. His finger stopped right at the wrist and lingered there lightly, letting go slowly. But then Nick felt something, or _thought_ he had.

Shocked and thinking that his mind was playing tricks on him, Nick put his gloved finger back on Maggie's wrist and felt nothing. _There, it was nothing. You're having some wishful thinking. She's dead and gone. There isn't anything anybody can do about it._

Nick had left his finger there lightly and suddenly felt it again. He put his finger firmly on her wrist, instead of barely touching it, and sensed the light thumbing of her heart. _Oh, good God, she's alive! _Maggie had a slight pulse, weakening every second she was exposed to this cold and laying there without medical help.

Maggie was alive and she _survived_ the attack instead of being left for dead. Questions on why she was left almost dead can be answered later (or the fact she survived, despite being impaled and stabbed and shot), but the most important thing to Nick was that she was barely alive and that she can be helped.

"Brass!" Nick interrupted what seemed to be an important talk about the case with the last witness – a female hiker – but this was much more imperative. _Maggie's_ _alive_.

Nick, still kneeling over Maggie, called Brass over again, "Put some gloves on, now!" he exclaimed, excited about his discovery. He could hardly believe it still.

Brass, complying with this strange request, excused himself from the witnesses and came over, taking a pair from the C.S.I.'s kit. He kneeled next to Nick and shrugged his shoulders, waiting to be told what to do. Already, Brass felt sick just looking at the body and pushed away the urge to look away and throw up. He didn't have a desire to see Maggie dead, just as her parents were.

"Brass," Nick was out of breath with panic, but managed to offer her arm. "Feel this, her wrist I mean, and tell me I'm not imagining this."

"Nick," Brass replied exasperated as he took the arm and felt the wrist carefully. He thought Nick was going crazy with some wishful thinking and needed to be reminded of the facts. "Maggie's dead and there's no way –"

Brass knew what Nick was talking about. The shock in finding a pulse on Maggie's wrist had interrupted his words.


	20. Back From the Dead

_She could almost feel a peaceful sense of herself come out. It was like an out-of-body experience and it calmed her. It was meant to be and she accepted it. However, everything was soon to change._

_She didn't know how long it had been, or what had happened after she fell from the gunshot wound to her leg. She felt herself be moved so many times and felt herself slip so many times, but she always held onto something, never knowing what it really was. Human feeling and emotional were far away, but it seemed to be the last thing she needed._

_Finally, when he left her alone and dumped her in some damp area, near some body of water, she felt something, something that she had been waiting for in all of the years that she had been alive. He left her alone someplace cool. With each wave she felt, the heat of the abuse eased away from her body. Then, the feeling to hold onto anything itself had vanished. She had nothing more._

_All she really wanted the most was for the pain to leave her and to be done with this life already. She was tired, _very_ tired. She had hurt herself so many times in the past and wanted it to end. Then, it had all consumed her once more, never ceasing, taking away the peaceful feelings. The shot burned her and blood flowed from her leg like hot lava. The stab wounds still hurt and every touch she felt burned her skin. It was the very reason why she had wanted that peace so badly back within her and welcomed each wave._

_Finally, after so many days it seemed like, she was left alone and he never came back when he dropped her off but maybe once, to move her from the waves. It almost calmed her down again, gave her a sense of serenity and an acceptance that this time, she was going to die and it wasn't going to be of her own doing, but a result of her meddling with dark affairs. The scars of her past were left behind her, but there was at least hope that everyone would accept that she died and move on with their lives, especially Nick. She had a spot in her heart for him. For all the times they spent together, they had not once said how they felt about the other._

_Time passed, as it always did. Suddenly, her eyes burned as she, under no control, opened her eyes. She saw something white and very bright – light, perhaps – fill her sight. The peaceful feeling that had once filled her was gone at last and she felt again that stinging pain that she felt when he had her. Everything erupted in pain. Even her breathing, something she never felt herself do in such a long time, started again. She knew that she was allowed to live once more._

_She sensed her eyes finally opening up again, to a cold, damp feeling world, and it filled her mind. Standing over her and flashing were the sirens, red and blue. It had been a part of her life, something she lived with for so long, even as she lived far away and in a different world than from her father. It was a familiar and comforting site._

_Two lone figures were there also and they stood above her, worried. One was fingering her arm, picking it up with a gloved hand and amazingly surprised that he felt a live pulse from her. She didn't know who they were, but she knew that she was in safer hands. They were supposed to be there to watch her dead body and had, instead, found her barely alive and holding onto life itself._

"_She's alive!" one of them yelled. "Call an ambulance!"_


	21. A Pitiful Sight

Sara, sitting in the waiting room of the local hospital, knew that this was supposed to be a good day for everyone, especially for the media, but the long waiting depressed and frustrated her. The press, who had been keeping track of the murders since the Holidays were found to be dead, had been excited about Maggie being alive (they reported it to the public as soon as Sheriff Mobley said something about the murders being connected, ignoring Grissom's pleas of keeping it quiet until more evidence surfaced), especially after a gruesome experience out in the wilderness of Vegas.

It was a lot worse than what anyone expected, even after working on the crime scene at the O'Keefe residence. Wounded – stabbed, shot, impaled and brutally raped multiple times – Maggie had somehow survived the odds (she was out for a week, which made the C.S.I. believe the killer had intentions of keeping her alive, although there was no evidence to support the theory). A victim of the murderer had been found alive and there was more evidence to process until the hospital staff gave them the rape kit.

It was there that Sara was waiting to see Maggie, along with Grissom, Catherine, Brass, Warrick and Nick. The last twenty hours had been hell, not knowing if their co-worker was going to live or not. Sitting there for two hours (eighteen hours before, the team had been anxiously waiting at Headquarters), Sara felt her back stiffen, knowing that the moments were filling her with dread. In the meantime, the tense group of C.S.I.s, plus Brass the detective, remained silent and waited patiently enough for the results of everything.

They all managed to smile, the hour before, when they heard that Maggie was going to fine and that her family was on the mend, even Grace, Maggie's future sister-in-law, who had been shot in the lungs, near her heart.

The wait in the lobby, just an hour after it was announced that Maggie was indeed alive and had survived surgery (all in thanks to Nick's swift response and paranoia), was becoming too boring for Sara (_I should, at least, have brought a book or a magazine_). She knew that they could visit Maggie as soon as the small biological family – the one that the hospitals really count – was done visiting her. Friends and acquaintances were allowed to visit afterward.

Impatiently, Sara began to swing her legs in frustration, but stopped when she saw Grissom's disapproving stare, one that everybody heeded and would do anything to change. Immediately, Sara stopped and gave Grissom an equally menacing stare, causing him to break his concentration on her and put it elsewhere. She then regretted it, wanting Grissom to look at her again, but dared not risk anything. She wanted to keep her feelings – and his – a secret for the time being.

_And did they ever take a long time_, Sara thought grimly, trying to get her mind off of Grissom. _How long does it take until a family is done looking at an unconscious member?_

Tired, also, of complaining in her head, she looked around to her fellow co-workers and sighed with frustration at the scene before her. Nick, next to Sara on the right, was a little worse for wear from his night scare and kept staring at the door – a door that would allow them to see their wounded co-worker – across from him. Brass, who usually kept his cool, was just as weary as Nick. Indeed, the homicide detective was appearing as if he had a bucket of cold water splashed on him.

Sara continued to survey the room. Catherine, across from her, was also grim and worried (_About her daughter, most likely_, Sara viciously, without intention, thought) and constantly watching the door next to her, just as Nick was. Warrick, to Catherine's right, was fast asleep next Grissom, posed to wake him up when the time came.

Grissom himself sat serenely, as usual, with his arms crossed across his chest and calmly, stoic-like, waiting for their turn to see Maggie, who, Grissom knew, would now not want to stay away from this case. Even Sara knew that Maggie was going to be more that helpful than ever to find the killer that committed these crimes. She was much stronger than Grissom had anticipated and Sara knew it. _I know him too well, him thinking that she won't be able things she's been asking for. I also know Maggie too well. She's an easy book to read sometimes, but what she shows isn't what she really is._

Her thoughts were then disrupted by a door, next to Catherine, opening. One of Maggie's older brothers (Sara didn't know which one it was because the two looked too much alike) peered into the slightly-opened door he opened, motioning that they can all see his sister, alone and perhaps without them. The group got up, worried (Nick was up too quickly and looked too eager), and almost headed into the next room before Grissom remembered Warrick. Grissom then turned around and woke him up quickly by shaking his shoulder, the lanky African-American rubbing his eyes and about to complain before he realized what was going on.

The resigned O'Keefe brother in the doorway, limping awkwardly in his crutches, motioned them all forward again, this time with his crutch. He held the door open for the group as a line formed. He quietly had the group filed single-file as they congregated into the hallway, following him down a narrow hallway and to an elevator, up to his sister's room and at the other end of the elevator.

Unfortunately for the group, the walk to Maggie's room was a long one and was up several floors. It was a crowded ride up a small elevator, almost enough to make Sara feel extremely claustrophobic. Looking around, once more, to see what the others were feeling – thinking in their minds – Sara saw almost nothing but heads staring down or at the numbers indicating which floor they were on.

At last, the elevator _dinged_, letting the group off of a floor. A long walk to the other end of the hall, down the narrowing hall on the eighth floor, gave them more time for thought, but as soon as they reached the small room, the team held its breath. Maggie was lying in the room (still deathly white in hue), separated from the group through a glass window and a door.

The brother, along with his other sibling and Grace, who had stood there waiting outside the room, left the C.S.I.s and detective immediately (or, as fast as they could), who couldn't resist but press their faces to the glass. Inside, only Maggie's nephew remained, holding the woman's limp hand, and crying silently, mouthing words of encouragement. Sara noted that Grissom was following along, mouthing replies to them both, knowing the words of endearment from a family member, but not sharing them with the other members of his team.

Maggie was barely awake, almost sleepy-like, and was trying to hold back her anger, frustration and anguish away as she turned away from her nephew and saw the group, her second family, stare back at her in helpless resignation. She heard the noise outside and wanted to investigate as soon as she could, but when she turned, the sight was too pitiful to bear, much more so than her nephew mouthing words to her.

Each person, even Nick, couldn't help but leave Maggie as she slowly, with much hesitation, broke down into tears. The woman saw the helpless faces of her co-workers. She had never felt so humiliated in her life.

But to the other C.S.I.s, there was much more to do than to pity. There was a job to do and their visiting time was over, even after a minute. A killer was still on the loose and already threatening the city. There was no time to spare anymore, but offer support and move on.


	22. Visitors in the Office

_Oh, God, it's been a hell of a few days. There have been too many cases, more than the usual five or six a night like a few months ago, and it's back to normal again. Damn, it took my mind off of a lot of things. It helped a little, but sometimes…sometimes…_

_I remember the night I had to process Maggie's dead body like it was just a few minutes ago, it's still so fresh in my memory banks. Sure, I was upset that she had been kidnapped and murdered. I was in a daze for the time she was missing. Of course, I had been stupid and not watching her, feeling guilty, just like the rest of the team. However, I knew her better than anybody else around, maybe even Grissom, and somehow knew she was alive somewhere. But who am I to say that? She turned out "dead" and was alive again._

Nick sat quietly in his office, thinking. It was the day after seeing Maggie in the hospital – it had seemed too unreal for him, too upsetting, but without the tears and tantrums – and yet, he was keeping everything, all feelings, inside of him, not showing anything to anybody, but the night shift was sure to know about everything. He may be described as dependable, yet emotional, but he had yet to let anybody know of his true intentions and feelings.

_Hell, they might even know already. It's been around the lab for months now. I love her. Ok, what's next, after all of this? She goes after the murderer, gets herself tangled into a web, and is alive after being thought dead. I should be rejoicing. Instead, it's making me angrier and angrier. I should be going after the asshole. I should be out there, searching for him, extracting justice. But, I'm not. Grissom has been grounding me to the lab and Warrick has been keeping an eye out on me, always popping into my office and seeing me at my place. Catherine invites me to dinner when she could. Sara watches me on occasion, the hawk that Grissom usually is. And Greg…well, I already met Pink, and if I see her one more time on a magazine cover of his, I'll…_

Warrick stuck his head into Nick's office. "Hey, man, the case we were working on last night together…Greg says the prints on the murder weapon match the ones on the wine glass. Nice job, man, now I owe you thirty. I bet forty the lipstick on the wine glass will match the victim's wife."

"And I think it's the mistress of the victim. It's a deal!"

Warrick left the office smiling, muttering about the two of them dealing and betting too much and it being a ton of fun, and walked down the halls towards Grissom's office. Reports were in his hands, so Nick assumed he was handing them to their supervisor.

_Or maybe not…I mean, I bet with Warrick all the time about these sorts of things, but it's been slowing down. We try to cut it down, since he's had a gambling problem. It's too common here in Vegas. I never was into casinos and gambling, but, hey, I'm from Texas. No too much of it down there. But I also guess we're growing up and it's becoming a thing of the past, slowly and surely._

_Maggie bet upon her life and almost lost it, though…dammit, I'm thinking of her again. I can't help it nowadays, I try not to, but it's hard. I love the girl very much. I _think_ she loves me back. Well, it seems that way. She's not the kind of person to string people along. And she seems to want to have a long-term relationship. She doesn't like short ones, I can tell –_

"Hey, Nick, Grissom is wondering if you have that report about the stripper case from a few nights ago." Sara popped his head into Nick's office and smiled, the same way Warrick did just the moment before.

"I already gave it to Ecklie because he wanted it and said I was supposed to hand it to him first, since the case was originally with his daytime shift. If Grissom needs it, I'm sure Ecklie will be nice enough to hand it over. He's been good about it so far." Nick looked almost annoyed that he was repeating himself and showed his irritation to his co-worker.

Sara just shrugged her shoulders and left without another word.

_I'm sure she was in here to check on me, if not sent here by Grissom, I can tell. I know that I told Grissom to talk with Ecklie about the stripper case from a few nights ago. Hell, my God, it kept me busy, not thinking about Maggie, but still…it reminded me of her. The dead woman was our age, with the same black hair and everything. And her eyes…my God, they were like Maggie's, dark brown with tiny green dots. And it could have been her all over again, I swear that it seemed that way. I almost puked to think about it, but Vega caught me when I excused myself to go outside, took me aside, and stayed with me until I could breathe. I calmed down, at least._

_I don't want Grissom knowing how much this has affected me and made Vega promise not to tell anybody about it. So far, he's kept his promises, unless he told and shushed it up. Either way…_

_She looked horrible. I can't believe she's alive. She should have been dead. I was prepared for it, especially seeing as how it had been a week since her disappearance and kidnapping. The killer must have kept her alive somehow, but there isn't any evidence to tell us that, or says Grissom so many times already. Catherine told me to think for myself and not follow Grissom all the time. And she's right and I know that I'm right._

_I _know_, somehow, Maggie was kept alive. It's a gut feeling. I don't have those often, but when they come, it ends up being true. Somehow, that guy kept her alive, to torture her more, and then left her for dead. I'm also sure he raped her so brutally, so she's sure to have an STD or be pregnant. But why? What is there to gain from it? She'll need months of testing…_

Catherine walked into Nick's office without knocking, an unusual thing for her to do, since she always knocked and asked to come in. She stood there for a minute, looking at Nick, and sighed.

Without much of a preamble, she said, "Hey, Nick, I was wondering if you would like to come over for dinner tomorrow night. I have Lindsey, since Eddie isn't going to be around…" Catherine then mumbled something about her ex-husband and another person interested in the music business, but then stopped. "Well, it _is_ leftover night, and I know how much you like it when we dig into the frig and eat. Even Lindsey has fun with it. Do you care to join?"

"I don't know, Catherine…" Nick trailed, not knowing what to say or how to answer.

"Lindsey has been asking for you." Nick saw the lie in her eyes quickly, but Catherine hid it when she noticed. "I mean, she's been asking for you and missing you. She liked it the last time you were around, playing games with her. She's needed a distraction and Warrick helps, but…"

"I'll try, I promise. I know the little blonde butterball misses me. I'll drop by tomorrow, then." Nick smiled, trying to hide his own feelings – like Catherine was hiding hers, but better – and not be overly concerned about Maggie. He couldn't help it, and knew Catherine was trying to distract him too, but it would only go so far.

Returning a grin, Catherine, too, left the office.

_Well, she seems a little too concerned, like everybody else. They all are. I get too many visitors in my office these days. I mean, even Brass stopped in last night, asking if I have a report from the "Lake Mead Incident", as he calls it, knowing that the investigation is not yet over again and there is no report. But, I know what he's talking about. He's way too shocked, though. I don't think he's had a person, looking dead, come back to life, but barely._

_Then again, neither have I. I was shocked. I was hopeful, but I was shocked. I couldn't believe it. It was wishful thinking almost –_

"Hey, Nick, I have something for you." Archie, the C.S.I.'s video and audio tech, came into the office, the fourth visitor within the hour that bothered Nick. "Greg told me to give you this, since you seemed to have an interest in his magazines and he's showed you every one but this. He told me to give you this before you left your shift."

Archie was quick in running away, or somehow knew that whatever Greg said wasn't the truth, because he didn't say anything else and looked a little frightened. Nick realized this and groaned, not even bothering to look at the cover of the magazine. He just took it and tossed it in the wastebasket, already annoyed that he couldn't be alone to think clearly, scattering his thoughts often enough and not knowing what to think about next.

It was a magazine with Pink on the cover.


	23. Reflections

A few days later, after the team had visited her at the hospital, Maggie calmly resigned herself to what happened and figured out the basic events of the week she was kidnapped (not much but thoughts and feelings, not a lot), she tried to get up and start her life – a new phase of it – over again. Starting over for her, as many times before at the institution, was remembering, painfully, each detail of what happened at the horrific event and imagining life afterward and what positive aspects of it can come out of the situation. Her counselor taught her that – a woman that looked after her interests at time and was quickly fired after a year – and it had been one of the only things that Maggie took with her after she left the horrific place itself.

_Breathe in, breathe out, _she kept thinking. Maggie needed to reassess her goals, taking smalls steps before making larger goal (finding the killer and making sure that Nick would not be stupid enough to handle it himself), and achieve them little by little. Her first step was to start walking with confidence – she wanted to be able to walk to the front door of the house, from the car, when Chris and Eddie drove her home – and making herself well again.

And that moment had been the perfect opportunity for her to start. There wasn't anybody there to see her get out of bed pathetically. Since she was out of danger and had no risk of relapsing, Maggie had no wires attached to her and didn't need to worry about the I.V. All she had was the occasional medicine feeding and that wasn't for another two hours yet. She wasn't going to be caught walking before she was supposed to…yet.

So Maggie took the chance. She had stumbled, at first, to work her legs forward and moved them to one side of the bed. They had not moved for a long time, so it became a struggle at first. Finally, she placed them out of her bed and swung her body over. The feet touched the cold floor and lingered there, as if savoring the taste of freedom for the first time ever.

Slowly, with dizzy movement, Maggie stood up and walked around her small room without any support, looking around her. Outside the glass wall, there was a different movement of busy nurses who constantly, under Grissom's suggestion she knew, watched her closely. And even though none were supposed to come in unless it was to give her medication or to response to an emergency, Maggie didn't care if they saw her walk around (or give disapproving glances, as most of them did).

So far (and this was the best news), Maggie did not scruple to the control of her own mind. The dark, invisible force that always tried to fight her back – to keep her thoughts focused on a more sinister force – was at bay, not daring to release itself when Maggie felt herself so strong and in control. The other constant stream of medication that she always took battled the spirits permanently (continued during her stay at the hospital), but this time, she knew it wasn't going to help her forever. She had to do this herself, without any help. She had to calm herself, face this humiliating situation and hope, for the best, that the killer will be caught before he struck again (also wishing that Nick would not be rash enough to run after the killer, but Maggie was sure that Grissom was keeping an eye out on him).

Beyond the hospital walls, there had a more thorough search for Jason Napolitano. Though the media reporters that bothered her co-workers – before and after she had been kidnapped – there have been daily news flashes that have said the killer might have skipped town (or has been hiding in Vegas someplace). Reports and pictures have been posted everywhere, so everyone was told to keep a watch and listen for weird explosions and gun fire. If it were to happen, then the person had to call nine-one-one as soon as they could.

_Yeah, like that's help anything_. Maggie, in hospital garb and a bathrobe with a sarcastic mood to her, walked her way slowly to the nearest chair. She tired herself – too easily – and resigned herself. She was stubborn, but not enough to keep standing.

The chair had been on the other side of the bed, making it an easy pass to the bed when there was a need to lie back down again. Maggie even remembered that Nick had been there briefly last night and had kissed her good night before he left for the lab (he talked to her briefly about his day, but looked too angry to converse anymore, keeping silent until leaving). It even seemed, to Maggie, that the chair had some magic to it. She even knew that this belief, that of which she could just manage anything like Nick (who, most certainly, endured more than what Maggie could imagine), was nonsensical, but it somehow made sense. It helped her to ease into the chair easily and not slip off.

Sordid, tired and satisfied of her achievement, Maggie looked around the room and saw, to her amazement, that a notebook and pen lay on the table next to the chair, something she requested last night from the nurse. She wasn't sure if the request was going to be complied, but it apparently had been.

Ready to write, Maggie took the pen and paper from the table to her hands and started to write, not of her experiences of the past week, but of something different. She had some other words to say and it wasn't just about Jason – alias, Harry Pit – and about how he had kidnapped her, raped her, kept her alive and then left her for dead. It was about her life, a life that seemed to be almost well-lived, if not quite complete, and how the journey isn't finished yet. _Nothing is ever completed in this life, it seems. And to think, if I had died on the shores of Lake Mead, I would know that life, for me, would be full of regrets for not having lived it properly._

But something came into her mind that seemed more important. She had to shower and gather up the bags she and the nurses created – some nail clippings, hair, whatever – that would serve as evidence for Grissom and his team. She knew that he was coming in later that day. She had a feeling.

~00~

_Edith Wharton wrote once that, "__Life is the only real counselor; wisdom unfiltered through personal experience does not become a part of the moral tissue." Can it be that, in light of what we experience on a day to day basis, that life cannot just be a classroom of books and facts, but that of taking life one moment at a time and learning, from each gasp of air, that we all create a lifetime of wisdom and courage?_

Maggie stared at what she wrote. _This doesn't quite sound right. _It sounded so childish, and yet she continued to state her over-obvious thesis, to try to expand her ideas.

She wrote: _Can our mistakes really create a classroom, but instead of books, we learn of what we had done through our rash actions? What can it teach about our lives itself and how we live them? Are they just a journey through the school or a walled classroom? And can the "school" be defined as a walled journey?_

_Oh, God, this is horrible. _Maggie stopped and again re-read what she wrote, almost crossing it out, but deciding not to on a sentimental whim. _I might fix this later. It makes a little sense, but seems too childish. I could write better than that. I need fewer questions and more answers._

Closing her eyes and sighing, Maggie finally decided otherwise – damning being sentimental and knowing what she wrote was true – and was able to cross out whatever she even started when she heard a click from the door, not bothering to cover up the messy yellow notebook paper and ink stains.

Maggie startled herself silly, even though she knew that it was Grissom. "It's on the table, Grissom," Maggie said, not even looking up to see her visitor, but continuing to cross out the words and think more about the questions she asked herself. _Could I be asking myself questions that I haven't dared to ask when I was younger?_

"It" was the evidence bag she created, before her shower: DNA taken from her, which included a tampon she inserted (although the hospital had already handed a rape kit to the crime lab), nail clippings and even her own black hair, which she asked the nurse to save when it was being cut (there were too many tangles in it that Maggie knew that she had to overcome her narcissism about her hair and let it go). All contained what the lab needed – more DNA – to finish off the case.

They all knew that everything was connected. It was more of reassuring themselves and presenting the evidence to the Sheriff, who demanded more and more and their time on the Jason Napolitano case.

"Thank you." Grissom's voice quietly filled the room as he took the bag and left, watching Maggie wrinkle her forehead in frustration over what she was writing. He then saw the crossed-out words on the paper, seeing the strange questions, and smiled. Waiting for an appropriate time to say it (which wasn't anytime soon, seeing Maggie bent out of shape over something so trivial as a paper), Grissom asked, "Is it your grand thesis or a statement for the police?"

Startled again, Maggie shook her head to both suggestions. She felt too embarrassed to say anything (indeed, she hadn't said much to anybody about anything save for Nick, but he seemed too distracted with things), but wanted to answer Grissom. She owned him that much.

After a moment, with some thought, Maggie said, "It's just a whimsical writing, nothing more."

Nodding his head, Grissom turned around and headed out the door, calling over his shoulder, "I know most of your tests were negative. Call me if there are any more changes. Be at the lab no later than next week. I've been told to bring the news to you."

Grissom knew that it was harsh and not quite diplomatic, but Ecklie had ordered it, despite everything, and Maggie knew it (Grissom would, everyone knew, throw out the book and request for two or more weeks before Maggie was allowed to return). Sheriff Mobley was also concerned, if anybody wanted to call it that, and wanted the watch the C.S.I. more closely than ever before. To be at her own home would not help them, but to be at the lab would.

Maggie, who just worked away at the notebook, shook her head at the close proximity the time was and almost wanted to scream about it. Instead, she replied to the leaving Grissom, "Fine," knowing that, immediately, it was Ecklie's idea.

As Grissom left and closed the door behind him, Maggie torn out the last page she was working on and threw it in the wastebasket next to the bed, where the nurses threw away her bandages and other things. _Score_, she thought as she began another thesis, but it ended up being closer to the last words she wrote.

_Oscar Wilde, a man of many extraordinary talents and works, had once said that, "Experience is the name in which we call our mistakes." Today, in a world in which mistakes can mean anything – small, large, damaging or even lethal and fatal – we reflect upon who is responsible and who is to blame…_


	24. Welcome Home?

It was only three days later, after Grissom had grabbed the last evidence bag from the hospital, when Maggie was allowed to go home with her brothers.

Her brothers, Grace and Robbie were almost as nervous as she was when they all drive back, as a five-some, to the house that had held so many memories, especially so many painful recollections of sorrow and horror. First it had been their parents' murders. Now, it was the same person, possibly, trying to kill them all, most of all, Maggie.

Maggie had never felt so guilty in her life. Her remaining biological family, the same that had been warning her about working back in Las Vegas (however happy they were that she came back and was helping them communicate with Robbie better), was recovering from an extremely emotional ordeal. She had brought this into their home – betraying their trust and saying that nothing was wrong, that she was fine – and they were angry about it, although they didn't show it to her face. She knew, in essence, that it was her fault and it had happened and it was solely her responsibility to stop it before it happened.

The week that she was kidnapped could have hurt them worse, in the long run. Chris and Eddie could have buried her this week, grieving once more, angry for the rest of their lives about her.

The silent drive home, with not even with a lecture from Chris and Eddie about her choice of career or how she brought danger in their home, hung in the air as the five-some went back home. Robbie wanted to "talk" to Maggie and sign to her, but didn't even dare to sign to his aunt for fear that his father and uncle would smash his fingers. He, too, sensed the anger in the car, but not being shown. Grace, always so quiet, resigned and moving out of the way, was also as angry at her future sister-in-law, but did not show it except in brief glances. Driving – the only person who could do so – she only looked at Maggie through the rearview mirrors and sneered, revealing to her all she needed to know.

Maggie felt it around her, even without Grace glancing at her viciously. She knew they were enraged about what she did; how she handled the case; what had happened to her and to them; and even the dangers that they faced as they went back to the place where the nightmare started. It could begin once more and Chris and Eddie were not going to be pleased, more concerned about their own reputation, privacy and safety than solving their parents' murder and making sure that the killer was not going to strike again.

_They don't understand. It's all one and the same. The note I was sent…even without it, the killer could have killed them. Then, he would have gone after me. Revenge is on the top of his list, apparently. What for, I can't remember or can't figure out._

She also knew that the house was now a piece of evidence, waiting to unfold and show remnants of that night when the intruder attacked her and her family and shattered their lives. Much like that colder night, early in January 1991, their lives split into the pieces that divided them in grief and built up their anger.

As this near-miss occurred, there were ways to turn back. They had family elsewhere in the country – San Francisco, where their parents were "buried", and even back east, where their parents went to college in Connecticut – and had a choice to move out and be safe. They could leave Las Vegas behind and start new lives elsewhere, closer to people they knew and faces that were friendlier. Nobody had to know that their parents were murdered in Sin City or that they had been attacked by somebody else – possibly the same person – twelve years later. They could have a clean slate and, for once, be unmolested by people and the media.

But Maggie knew that it could not be. With the killer still on the loose, the family could be in danger everyday of their lives until he was dead or behind bars. The faces elsewhere may be friendlier elsewhere, but their lives would be in danger due to association. One by one, their elderly relatives could be knocked out without reason. And it would still be Maggie's fault. It's her responsibility to stop it – a game of you and me – and she alone could.

As Grace eased easily into their driveway, already decorated with "Welcome Back!" adornments around the house and in the garage (the Farrows, next door to them, were surely responsible for it), Maggie gaped and could not comprehend the change she saw in the house: dark, forlorn and even sinister. It seemed to have changed, from grieving to outright evil within the weeks everybody had been gone.

As soon as her future sister-in-law parked the car and killed the engine, Maggie opened the back door – almost closing it on her nephew – and limped out with her family closely behind her, watching her as if a bomb were to go off as soon as she opened the door. The C.S.I. surely felt like it, almost, like the killer was going to come out and destroy their lives once more. _No, he can't. He's planning it out again. But he's sure to come back. I alone must face him, I alone must stop him. Not even Nick can stop me from doing this. I love him, but he can't help me anymore._

In her arms, as she unlocked and opened the new front door with the new key, which she had written after Grissom left, was a piece of her heart: the pain Maggie felt in the new thesis she started writing and had yet to finish. _And yet…I don't think I ever will until I feel my journey, in life, is nearly at its end. Life has barely begun for me. Only a new phase has just started._


	25. Child Services Records

It was about a week and a half after the find at Lake Mead. Brass had been unglued by the find – _She was supposed to be dead!_ – and was constantly trying to keep himself busy, like everything else, especially Nick. He had not found anybody else to interview yet, and was waiting for more evidence to come in before doing anything else. In the meantime, he filled out and signed reports, talked with Ecklie and Grissom (_Oil and water, as always_), dealing with Mobley and the media at hand and even trying to call the O'Keefe residence, to offer any help, but nobody answered the phone, allowing the voice mail to pick up any calls.

_I'm not leaving any damned messages. I'm talking with one of them and that's that. I'm not playing games anymore._

The detective needed a break. Since he was assigned to work with Greg and Warrick, whenever they had something, Brass wondered about what they found. He didn't have the chance to talk with them yet. After signing the last report for the night – and even ignoring the phone ringing the minute he got up – the detective went down the aquamarine halls, looking for the duo. After asking a lab tech – _Damn Hodges, I hate his guts_ – where they went, Brass went down the hall, hooked a right, and found himself in the breakroom.

Brass had just come into the room when he discovered a tired and distraught Greg (who probably wasn't too used to working that hard…yet) and Warrick, both with their heads down on the table, two coffee cups to the center of it and within their grasps. The detective chuckled, thinking about what they had been doing with the Child Services files and staying up late too many nights to count, trying to avoid overtime and infuriating Sheriff Mobley.

He knew that he had to leave the two tired men alone. But just as Brass was able to walk out of the room, to avoid waking them both up, Greg moved slightly – to the sound of the detective's rustling clothes – and woke up. Warrick shortly followed him, almost embarrassed to be caught in such a weak moment, especially with the tough homicide detective near them.

"Taking a cat nap, I see," Brass said, trying hard not to chuckle again.

"Well, if you had to go through hell to get Child Services files about a maniac, then you'd be this tired and tired, too," Greg snapped, sleepily almost. He almost hit his head on the table trying to avoid going back to sleep.

"Hey, hey, calm down." Brass put his arms in surrender. He knew their limits and backed off the issue, trying to steer it back to the main topic: who was Jason Napolitano and what did he have in connection to Margaret O'Keefe and her family? He needed to know before the two went back to sleep again.

"Did you two sleepyheads find anything of interest this time or was that before last night's nap?" he finally asked after a minute of debating whether or not to ask for what they've found.

Warrick, who had been sleeping on some thick folder that Brass had just noticed, threw the detective another sleepy stare. He then threw the thick folder at him, almost having the contents flown to the floor (they had stayed within the rubber bands wrapped around them).

Yawning, Warrick returned to his nap on the table and said before dozing off again (with Greg close behind him), "Take those to Grissom and have yourself a good day, honey." The lanky C.S.I. – along with the extremely tired lab rat – then tipped his head forward and went back to sleep, drooling on the table unconsciously.

Brass smiled and started taking out the rubber bands and then each paper of the file on one Jason Brian Napolitano. He read each paragraph carefully, still standing in the break room, very still so that he couldn't possibly wake the two men up again.

After he went through name, address, profession and date of birth, Brass noticed some police charges, off the record, and even the one family who fostered the child, before he came out his minor years and his high school graduation. The name of that one couple struck him as odd. Almost shocking to him was the report on this particular family, details following details on how and why they adapted him.

Immediately after the revelation, Brass put the file down on the table next to Warrick and Greg and thumbed at his phone in his pocket. Taking it out, he dialed Grissom's number quickly.

The phone rang twice. "Grissom here."

"Gil, meet me at the Farrows' place in twenty minutes," Brass said in a monotone, to hide his excitement. "You know the O'Keefe's neighbors, the elderly couple. There is a little something in here that might interest you in this case. I think they might help us."

Before the detective could even say more and hear a response from Grissom, the phone's dial tone pronounced that Grissom had hung up. _So much for suspense and telling him about what it was_, Brass thought as he headed, file in hands again, out the door.


	26. Jamie Farrow's Confession

Grissom was early for his meeting with Brass at the Farrow's house at 2493 Halloway Drive in Vegas. Situated in the residential area and far away from the Strip, Halloway Drive provided peace and privacy to those who sought it. Indeed, it was a nicer neighborhood than most in Vegas and didn't have the cookie-cutter housing units that usually characterize Sin City. The park was almost a block away and even the schools were a close walk for the younger students. All except the crimes against the O'Keefes, the area was quiet and tranquil and the police were requested to patrol the area regularly.

Brass even thought it quieter that nobody stirred in the neighborhood. Not a soul in this ghost section of Vegas even turned their curtains aside to see two men at the Farrow's house. There weren't too many lights on, either.

"Am I along for the trip or do you really have something up your sleeve this time, Jim?" Grissom asked Brass.

Brass, whose attentions were at the serene neighborhood (even the O'Keefes appeared not to be home, although Maggie and her family were released yesterday from the hospital – their lights were on indicating this – and Brass knew that she was to come back to the lab in two nights), took a few seconds to answer Grissom's usual question. "Oh, there is something in here that might lead us to some of the _why_ of this investigation."

"Why, what?" Grissom was truly curious and even raised his eyebrow with curiosity.

_Ever the smartass sometimes_, Brass thought.

"Why don't we get inside and find out what else we can find from this friendly neighbor who cooperated with us last week?" Brass suggested a little harshly as he herded Grissom to the front door. He was, after all, giddy inside that he knew something that Grissom didn't. Not to mention, Brass was also was excited about the face he could make when he could confront the elderly neighbors about something he learned from Warrick and Greg.

Before Brass could knock on the door, he was greeted, with Grissom right behind him, by the elderly woman. _We must have made a commotion outside. Damn, these neighborhoods are irritating sometimes._

In her late sixties or early seventies already, Jamie Farrow, who lived alone with her husband, opened the door silently, almost as if she was afraid that she'll wake somebody up. Timidly, she said (with a good memory, Brass noted, which was going to be good for the investigation), "Detective Brass, Mr. Grissom, it's a surprise to see you again. What honor do I have of this visit?" The woman quickly ushered the two men into her house, closing the door behind her.

A large house outside didn't compare to the glamorous decoration internal of the house. The living room, the first room that the C.S.I. and detective were pushed into, was large, spacious and connected to a small dining room and then a kitchen to the right. Stairs graved their eyes to the front. The walls themselves were decorated with pictures of old and even some recent shots of some of the younger family. To the left, however, was where Brass wanted to settle and ask the elderly woman, who was wringing her hands nervously, about her past with a certain child and about the file that was tucked under his arm.

The couch looked comforting and even the stiff-appearing love seat gave out an invitation to the already-tired detective. The bay window next to both seating arrangements let in the last sunshine of Vegas. Indeed, the late November days were giving into the cold, although Brass could hardly call temperatures in the high forties cold.

"Why don't we sit down and talk then?" Jamie Farrow did indeed motion the two to the couch in the living room. Both guests ended up being quiet about their visit and exchanged glances as they remained still. How did the woman know that they wanted to talk and invited them to?

_She might have been expecting this too_, Brass mused as he guided Grissom, who remained motionless about his surroundings and was studying the place for clues. Brass pushed the C.S.I. to the living room as their hostess took the love seat.

"Now," Jamie started after all three were seated properly, "what is it that you two lovely men want to talk about?" With silence as a reply, the older woman became impatient. "Come now, out with it. I know that I said everything that I knew about the O'Keefes. Is there anything that I had missed? Is there anything else that has come up in your investigation?"

Brass answered, for he was the one who knew the sole purpose of this visit. Grissom was just here for the fun of it and listening to some evidence that he didn't know and Brass did.

The detective wanted to start out gently, as he knew the women to go into fits when something awful happened, much like in the week previously. "Mrs. Farrow, in the course of our enlarging investigation, we have come up with a name of the murderer to the O'Keefe parents twelve years ago. We also have reason to believe that he killed the Holidays as well. Our investigators do have evidence of this and it points to his direction. However, we also have some reason to believe that the same person, who has done all these murders, has kidnapped Miss O'Keefe next door and is using her family as bait."

_I guess that was gentle enough_, Brass thought immediately afterward, but was wrong. The elderly woman was distant, soundless. She got up from her seat, taking herself to the bay window to the end of the room, and stared out of the window, troubled. Grissom was just about to say something to Jamie Farrow when she spoke.

"You know," she said, "I have always had a liking to the small girl, Maggie, next door. Even fifteen years after the family moved here, I still look out here and think about the family that Michael had and how excited he could, and would, get over this small girl when she came home from that school of hers. He always said, everywhere they went and anywhere they were living at, she would come back in a fury and tell him what she learned. His world seemed – was, more like – broken without her with her brothers together. Her presence was enough to get him to smile more often."

Grissom and Brass heard a sigh from Mrs. Farrow. "Julie was equally protective of the child and she was thrilled to learn everything from and about Maggie. She loved to watch her only daughter climb that tree of theirs, pet the dog and even garden in the summer sunshine. The music from her bedroom even seeped into here and –" Her voice, cracked at the end, was full of longing and it was almost as if she was looking to the window of the past. The elderly woman started to cry.

It was noiseless after Jamie's speech except for her crying. Brass wanted to comfort the woman and try to steer back to the topic he wanted to bring up, but it was the socially-unconscious Grissom who picked up on what the woman was saying and to what Brass was aiming to talk about. "Mrs. Farrow, do you have any children of your own?" he asked, without meaning any offense.

Mrs. Farrow had stopped crying then, her tears leaving a thin wet trail on her face. The question may have startled her – she looked like she had been cornered finally and Brass saw it – but it was practical and it made her come to her senses.

"No, but Harold and I wanted them so much," she replied. "My brothers all had children, as did Harold's brother and sister, and they all would always being them over and show them off, how they've grown and even coming over with their grandchildren and once, a great-grandchild. Every time I saw them, and even looking at Maggie as I watched her for the two or so years her parents were here, I longed for them. I wanted them in my old age, too."

"Did you adapt any?" Grissom asked carefully.

_Dammit, he's getting to my point!_ Brass thought with some humor in the statement. _Did I miss something?_

"Yes, we did," Mrs. Farrow answered, returning at once to the love seat as she said it. Her tears threatened to return, but she kept them in check. "About…let's see, fifteen, sixteen years ago, Harold and I thought that we needed some noise in the house. It had been an adult house for far too long. For the over forty years we've been married, there has not been a single peep from a child of our own, even an adapted one. We were very lonely and still felt ashamed that we were not given a child of our own. Of course, we had our family over and Julie walked over for an evening of bridge. Sometimes Julie brought Maggie and, when Robert was born, him. But it wasn't the same."

She sighed, pausing before continuing. It gave an authentic feel to her story, but the C.S.I. and detective knew that she was telling the truth already, just through body gestures. They listened more as she went on, leaning in to listen to her soft voice.

"The circumstances were good and it was the perfect time for us," Mrs. Farrow explained. "It seemed like a good idea. I wasn't working at the time, so Harold thought it was appropriate that I watch the child while he went to work. We had enough money to support a child and thought we were mature enough to raise one. In turn, we went searching for a child that needed us and needed a home and a family's love."

Then, it was Brass's turn to ask a question, pulling out the file on Jason Napolitano. He asked, without missing a beat, "Did this child happen to be this one?" He took the file and threw it on the table between the couch and the love seat, listening to the satisfying _slap_ it made and looking at the shock on Jamie Farrow's face.

Mrs. Farrow, seeing the name of the file tab, picked up the file and opened it, read some of it before, shamefully, putting it down. She gulped and was about to cry again when she talked, but took to whispering, "Yes, that was the child. Teenager, but he was the child Harold and I wanted to adapt. We knew from the start that he was troubled, but I thought some structure would help him. The Department of Children and Families told us that he was a very difficult child and as a teenager, he became more reckless. They thought that he was involved in some rape cases."

The elderly woman swallowed audibly, thinking, pausing, and then continuing. "Harold thought, despite the rumors, that he could teach the child some morals that he was taught as a child. He wanted to take him fishing and do other normal things that people that age did. Even Harold thought that every day, with a little work, this could bring us the joy that we were missing in our lives. Alas, it wasn't.

"Jason did prove to be a troublesome child to deal with from the start. He loved to taunt those around him, snickered at what we tried to steer him away from and even ran away, sometimes for days at a time." Mrs. Farrow's voice sounded bitterer with each passing word. "He kept going back to that horrid place he lived in when he was a child. I knew that he was raised by his aunt and uncle in there and eventually, they died. They left him alone. He had no other relatives, but those drugged people!

"In turn, Jason turned to things we urged him not to do. He often took girls there, a dark, drafty place it was, and we'd worry. Harold and I knew what he was doing and tried stopping it before it would escalate. We would play it safe, after trying to track him down ourselves, and would have Michael and his team chase him down every time. Oh, Jason would come back. He would be screaming about how we didn't love him and appreciate his feelings. It hurt our feelings hearing it, of course. Harold and I felt helpless. We didn't know what to do or how to handle Jason, so we would send him to his room and hope for the best. Sadly, the boy would just escape through his bedroom window upstairs and start all over again.

"About a month after he arrived here, Jason was caught with Harold's car, driving without a license and _drunk_. We didn't know how he got any alcohol – Harold and I don't drink at _all _– and we were worried that he would have killed someone. Michael caught him in time when he heard about a teenager driving erratically, before he did any damage. But that was enough to have the Department of Children and Families take him from our custody. There wasn't anything we or Michael could do.

"Sad as I was that Jason left, I was not quite relieved and was ashamed with myself for what we have tried to do. I didn't solve a problem, but created a larger one, and made it worse for all of us. This wasn't the missing link in our lives, but the simple longing of an old woman and her husband."

Mrs. Farrow stopped and locked her eyes into Brass', the person who started her confession. "Is there anything else, Detective?" she asked timidly. "Do you have any other questions?"

"Were there any incidents where he tried to break into the O'Keefes' place and bother the daughter?" Grissom asked for Brass.

"Yes, come to think of it," was the answer. "Maggie was the apple of his eye during the month that he was here. Many times, I'd find Jason in the garden next door, waiting for her, teasing the dog and once, trying to climb a ladder to get into her room. It was facing our house and was within easy access."

Mrs. Farrow smiled for a second. "Julie often had her gun in his face when he got close. She didn't like him one bit and tried to persuade me to return the child to the Department, but I always defended him. I said that we could try to change him. But Julie had enough of Michael chasing the child or having to protect her only daughter from a lunatic. She was right, though: he was a sex fiend. I couldn't believe that he became a magician and an object of lust to many women. And he was a married man, too."

"I think that'll be all for now, Mrs. Farrow," Brass said, amazed at what he uncovered (more than he expected). "Thank you for your cooperation. This does help in the investigation much more than you think."

"You're welcome," the tearful elderly woman said. "Have a nice evening, gentlemen."

Motioning that they should leave, Mrs. Farrow led both men out the door immediately after her confession. She almost slammed it behind him as they walked out (_She's remembering that this is a quiet neighborhood, I guess_, thought Brass), angry that they even brought the name of Jason Napolitano into her home.

Grissom, hands in his pockets, headed back to the Tahoe, but Brass caught him by the scuff of his neck before he could get away. Mocking his playful anger and curious about how Grissom knew something that he wasn't supposed to, Brass jokingly dragged Grissom back to his car, where he asked, "How did you know about this?"

Grissom, who released himself from Brass's grip, swept his shoulder and said simply, "It was simple logic. Jamie Farrow, in your notes, stated that she was living alone with her husband and had no children. Jason Napolitano was a child without any supervision or parents. How else could have a teenager of that much knowledge of the O'Keefes have any access to Maggie or even could have any knowledge of the family without meeting them? Michael O'Keefe caught him breaking the law many times, but was sympathetic to Jason's cause. This is why Jason had no record before his 1999 arrest for assaulting an officer of the law: Officer O'Keefe could have let him off the hook. He knew Jason well enough, or so he thought, to give him more chances than one."

'Oh," was all the stunned Brass could say. _So, to Grissom, it's the puzzle piece that he fit in himself. Damn, I thought I had him this time._

Before Brass could leave for his car, however, Grissom left. He said behind him, unlocking his own car, "Warrick also gave me a copy of the Napolitano file."

Grissom then got into his car and drove off, leaving the stunned and confused Brass behind.


	27. Everybody Else's Agenda

For the next month, a chilly December in Vegas, Maggie had been going in and out of the hospital, never skipping her night shifts, but always worrying about the worst because it had already happened. She was always testing herself and even begging to herself that what she had learned towards the middle of the month wasn't even true, but it was. She was pregnant.

Maggie, sitting at the hospital when she learned of it, had been wishing that she'd turn out all right, a whole person with her own life again, and her life would come back to what she thought was normal. She had started back at the lab again after a few weeks' worth of vacation at home (Grissom had an argument with Ecklie and Mobley about it and won, giving her more time to recover), but Grissom had grounded her to lab work with Greg, mostly, and not field work.

_This pregnancy business is bullshit. I'm tired – it's expected after an ordeal like that – but I have had no signs of having a child. It's ridiculous and impossible. I'm not a maternal person. I never have been. Robbie had been the closest to a child I had and that's because he listens to me the most. I never played with dolls when I was child. I never played Mommy. I never allowed myself to be close to anybody, and look where it's gotten me every time I tried._

_Nick has been trying to talk to me, but Grissom keeps him away from me, even when we're not on shift. Warrick would take Nick out someplace and Catherine would kidnap me to have dinner with her and Lindsey. And Sara, Grissom's little spy sometimes, is everywhere in the lab, watching me, asking me questions on cases, which is a good thing, I guess, but it gets annoying. I've been demoted – God knows why – and, for some reason, I'm enjoying it too much. It's quiet and not too hard on me. However, I miss talking to Nick and seeing him after our shift. Even having breakfast with the team has been dwindling down to nothing, since everybody has been busy with this case, or every other crime in the city._

_I have yet to tell Nick anything. Should I call him now? Should I tell him in person? How is he going to react to this? I don't know, but Grissom needs to know something soon enough. I have to talk to him._

Maggie had been fine with working back at the lab again. She was even content with working the computers and researching like a lab tech, talking with Greg (although Hodges grated on her nerves most of the time and sometimes would not shut up). She considered it better than staying at home with her brothers, new sister-in-law and nephew, who reminded her daily of her mistakes and would never cease to talk to her about moving away or quitting being a C.S.I. altogether. Robbie, even, asked her about leaving her career and going back to working at a library, where it was peaceful.

"And where would that leave me?" Maggie signed to him. "The killer would come back and bother me again. It'll never end until I end it."

In turn, the C.S.I. threw herself back into work like it was her only happiness in the world. She felt as if she belonged more to the lab than to her own home – the home that her parents had made years and years before – and it made her feel out of place more, sometimes making her wish that she had come back to Vegas and started the case all over again, never met Nick and, most certainly, put everybody in danger. The tolerance of her brothers had grown thin and it had seemed that Maggie had overstayed her welcome. It looked like she was going to be thrown out of their home soon enough.

The only joy the family actually had – without anybody arguing or pointing accusing fingers at Maggie all the time – was the news that Eddie and Grace had married, before Maggie came back to the lab. It was the month before, in late November, in a small, simple ceremony.

After all of the disputes about where they were going to stay and if they could afford to leave, the couple had decided to stay at the house (they always wanted to stay in the house and were threatening to move out at the same time). After the honeymoon, which lasted only a few days, the fights began anew. Robbie, caught in the middle, usually kept to himself (save for asking Maggie when she was going to leave the lab) – as he had usually done since that night – and Maggie ran off to the lab, intent on escaping what she considered to be madness.

Someday, she knew that she had to deal with it and put himself into one of her brothers' arguments. She had to say something, instead of making excuses and defending herself feebly, and move on with her life.

The silences they each in the family all endured, within each stubborn spirit, as each healed physically, was unbearable. The wedding of Grace and Eddie, held in a secular cubicle known famously in Sin City, held the happiness and love they all had for each other and a feeling of family unity.

_And it'll never come to us again. I can feel it. I can move out and come back years later, like I did last time, and it'll begin again. Everything is my fault. It always has and always will be._

~00~_  
_

Maggie, thinking about the days with her brothers' and her duties at the lab, was still sitting in a room of the hospital after the results were announced privately. She then asked to be alone to collect her thoughts, but the nurse who talked with her stayed and stood there, waiting to be talked to. Her impatience was shown through her foot tapping and nervous motions.

However, Maggie had too many thoughts still. Images of the past few months would come to her again and again – always bothering me, reminding her of everything – and the present needed to be addressed.

_This is impossible, like I've been saying to myself. I was positive for that rape and they said that it was brutal. I think I remember some of it. But how could this have happened? Nick and I were careful and didn't do anything…I mean, it was once, by mistake, only a week after I got home and he visited me and…and I take care to prevent any accidents, as always. Did I miss something? Was it my fault? Or, does the killer have a different agenda? If so, why impregnate me? What's the point in that?_

Maggie racked her brain for every detail, every detail that she tried to tell Brass when he visited her numerous times – in the lab and at her home – but couldn't. She could not will herself to even _picture_ the scenes she could feel with her body. She couldn't even tell her family what had happened, or what she felt happened.

The nurse, who had broken the news to her, was somewhat gentle and sympathetic in her words, but gave room for little to no nonsense. When Maggie asked if, somehow, the results were not quite right or even wrong, the nurse became a little defensive. "Ms. O'Keefe, the tests are positive. There is a less than one percent chance that your pregnancy test came back negative, but it isn't possible. The ultrasound from a few weeks ago had been analyzed and found to be consistent with your condition. If you would like another appointment to be shown why and have the pictures shown to you once more, I would be happy to send you to the receptionist in the waiting room."

"No, no, thank you" was Maggie's reply, through cold lips. Then: "I'd like to be alone for a few minutes, please."

The other woman, somewhat understanding, left finally, taking the papered results with her. But it left Maggie with no happiness, but only despair and its question. _What can I do?_

She continued to sit there and think about her situation. Suddenly, she remembered the day before, when some of unsaid issues went down in the lab. The investigation was still open – and this latest news was sure to be added to it – and every shift was working on it. This was where Ecklie had involved himself, claiming he had right to, even though the night shift had been working on Maggie's case by themselves.

Ecklie, always the one to instigate in everything and stick his head into every investigation he could (Ecklie was always on Sheriff Mobley's side and when he demanded of Ecklie a more careful investigation by the day shift, it was done), had called Maggie to the interrogation room and questioned her about the ordeal. Mobley had thought Brass did not do a satisfying job interviewing Maggie, so asked Ecklie and his team to intervene.

The day shift supervisor, naturally, hired a detective from the department, who tried his questions on her too, but to no avail, accusing her of working with the murderer, even, and having the plans backfire on her. Much to Maggie's dismay (and Grissom's, as he heard of in the interrogation as he and some of the other team members watched), she learned that Ecklie's group had searched her room after the night shift team and found semen on her bed. In testing it, found it to be Nick's. It was another reason Ecklie wanted Maggie in, as so to pin her down for hiding evidence or to incriminate Nick with something.

The night shift was outside of the interrogation room, watching Maggie through the glass like the first night they saw her at the hospital. Nick, in horror, pressed his face to the glassy divider that separated them. If Ecklie twisted Maggie's words, then he could be arrested, and, guilty or innocent, he could be fired and his career with C.S.I. could be ruined. Either that, or Maggie could be and the two of them would be ruined.

Ecklie bothered Maggie relentlessly and never left her alone (Maggie liked that her answers had not satisfied Ecklie and was very amused about how he would rub his balding head when he was frustrated). When asking, angrily, if Nick was involved with any of the affair (kidnapping, rape and murder), Maggie had given him the answer of "No."

She said it quietly, so it gave Ecklie and his detective friend doubts. It meant, to them, that Maggie was hiding something from them, although how Nick could have murdered her parents – and the Holidays – was beyond her. He had an alibi every time and, in 1991, was not even in Vegas.

"So, you're saying that Nick Stokes was not involved with any murder, rape or kidnapping then, O'Keefe?" Ecklie asked. He folded his hand on the table, making Maggie very nervous.

The detective and Ecklie both noticed her nervousness and worked on it, played with it. "Then, how did Nick Stokes' DNA end up on your bed?" Ecklie then asked.

Her anger boiling inside from something she considered to be private (although the lab might as well known after the night it happened), Maggie acidly released her words, forgetting that she was nervous previously. "I'll ask you a few questions in volley, then. Did any of his DNA end up on anything else in this investigation? Were his prints on the scene of my parents' or the Holidays' murders? Did his DNA match the black cloth found on the scenes? Oh, geez, there was too many questions for you. Let me start out a little slower, should I? You look confused, Ecklie."

Maggie's eyes flashed anger, just like her attitude, not caring that she was ruining her career already and making Ecklie angry at the same time. "Now, Ecklie, how can you explain _that_?" she asked as a final insult.

Ecklie, angry still that he wasn't getting anywhere with this talk, rubbed his receding hairline and sighed. He motioned for the detective to leave the room and he obeyed, winking and smiling at the C.S.I.s outside. Ecklie, too, smiled (Grissom knew that it meant Ecklie was up to something and knew it was going to help him).

Then, thinking about what could smear the stubborn woman, Ecklie tried a different tactic, which Maggie thought of as something so common in a bureaucratic official such as him: to smear and embarrass in front of everybody, even the person involved. "So, O'Keefe, you're saying that you're having a _sexual_ relationship with Nick Stokes? Is that how his DNA ended up in _your_ bed?"

Maggie was silent and couldn't answer, she was that shocked. She looked to Nick, still pressed into the glass, and he was mouthing, "No, don't do it."

Ecklie saw this as soon as he noticed Maggie stare at Nick and smiled. This was what he searching for.

Grissom, next to Nick, almost grimaced, knowing that two good team members were going to be kicked out and fired, although it looked like Maggie was going to be the first to go, if things didn't improve for her. Nick and Maggie had betrayed each other and in turn, Grissom was going to be in deeper trouble for letting it happen. They all knew what dating a co-worker meant.

Ecklie then motioned another detective – waiting in the wings outside with the C.S.I.s for his turn to come in – to step forward and try his techniques. The detective entered and shut the door behind him, slamming it for dramatic effect. He saw that the other had already tried his intense questions on Maggie, but he himself was ready to try another tactic. He stepped up and stood by the table, banging it with his fist.

As soon as the detective saw that Maggie was afraid – shaking, even – and staring at him with doe-like eyes, he said, "Answer the question, Ms. O'Keefe. Did you…have…a…sexual relationship with…Nick…Stokes?"

Maggie looked back at her co-workers, especially Nick (Catherine, Sara, Brass, Greg and Warrick stood there, equally helpless), and mouthed, "I'm sorry" before answering. She looked back at Ecklie and the detective and said, "Yes."

The C.S.I. wanted to take the fall for Nick and Grissom. She willingly told the truth to let the other two go free. She would sacrifice herself so that everybody could keep their career intact and their reputations clean.

"Please state that for the recording device," Ecklie said with a smile on his face, pressing a button nearby, a tape recorder that came out of nowhere, "using your full name and the statement of which we need to hear. We need to have this on the record so that Nick Stokes can be eliminated as a suspect in this case."

"I, Margaret Jane O'Keefe, have had a sexual relationship with Nick Stokes of the C.S.I. night shift lab. The mentioned name has not been involved in any of the crimes in this investigation." Maggie gulped. "I also take full responsibility for the relationship."

Ecklie then turned off the recording device, making Maggie very relieved. "There, are you satisfied now?" she asked with venom. "Are you happy now that you have what you want? So, why you don't you just run along to the Sheriff, why don't you?"

After her questions to Ecklie, Maggie put her forehead to the table, feeling its coolness, and cried. She lost all sense of direction and feeling, only knowing despair. She numbed herself and would not register her surroundings. She knew what she had done and took the blame for everything. She didn't want Nick, Grissom or anyone else, for that matter, to be fired because of her follies and crimes. It was her fault that everything had happened the way it did. Had she not come back to Vegas or started the case over again, it would not have happened and everybody would have calmer lives.

_Oh God, it all my fault. If I didn't come back to Vegas, I would not have met Nick. If I didn't meet Nick, I would not have fallen so much in love. God, I hate being in love. It kills careers, relationships and everything else in life. Dammit!_

Maggie didn't even remember anybody helping her walk back to her office from the interrogation room. When she was aware of her surroundings again, she realized where she was. It was obviously after midnight and her door was closed and unlocked. Outside, there were lab techs roaming the halls in the latest ring of robberies that hit Vegas. It seemed like life had gone back to normal once more for the crime lab.

Within nine hours, she had to be at the hospital and await the results of the last test that could fire her or have her kept at the lab. And, nine hours later, there she was, crying, alone and not knowing what to do next.


	28. What Can I Do?

Maggie finally found the courage. She walked out of the room, down the hall and into the waiting room, still unbelieving of what she heard. As she pulled out her cell phone, knowing what she had to do, she walked to her Malibu, unlocking it and shutting it behind her, so nobody could hear what she had to say. She knew the person who would want to hear this first and would have wanted her to call him first.

The phone only rang three times. "Grissom here."

"Grissom, this is Maggie. All the tests, but the last one, were negative."

There was silence at the other end, Grissom knowing what she was talking about. Maggie knew that it was shock, the same that she had. Even for Grissom, there is such thing as emotion, and even shock he could feel it (Maggie found that almost unbelieving, too). Then, there was some mumbling in the background (someone in the office or Grissom talking with someone else), and then he came back on line. "What are you going to do about it? Have you made any decisions?"

"Well," Maggie said, "I would like to continue work in the lab, but I can do it from home, if you want me to. That way I can hit two birds with one stone. Or I can still take the rap for everything and be fired from this job and start a new career. I don't want anyone to take the fall for something I had done. I put everybody in this mess and I should be able to work it out."

"We'll work out the details later," Grissom replied almost dismissively. "I don't want anyone fired just yet. You took the responsibility for the actions you've taken and it's as much as we can do right now." There was a pause. "Have you told anyone else yet?"

"No, not even –" Maggie started.

"We'll worry about Nick later," Grissom said, knowing the person Maggie was talking about. "I prefer if you keep it out of the lab for the time being. Take the night off and come back tomorrow night." Then, the line was disconnected.

Maggie, almost staring distantly at the wall, listened to the tone and the noises of worry around her for a while before realizing where she was. She turned off her phone, put it back in her purse and started the engine to her car.

There was already a long road ahead of her and it just wasn't about an individual life anymore.

~00~

Maggie didn't want to go home just yet. She didn't want to tell her brothers, sister-in-law and nephew anything yet. She was more concerned about Nick than anything else and refused to keep anything like a pregnancy a secret from him. He was supposed to be her best friend – lover now? – and he needed to know, in case something happens.

Sighing about the Vegas traffic in front of her – she was already ten minutes from Nick's apartment – Maggie tapped her steering wheel, thinking about Nick. _Was it right to have sex together in my bed? I mean, after all, the investigation was still going on. I couldn't help it. I couldn't help myself. Dammit! Look what I put him through. I took the fall for everything. And it's making him crazy to think about it, for sure._

At the light, as traffic moved once more, Maggie took the left to go to Nicks, again stopping in Vegas traffic. _Damn_. Debating about calling Nick, Maggie looked to the radio clock – it was one in the afternoon already – and sighed again. _I should let him know I'm coming._

As traffic inched forward slowly, Maggie took out her cell phone, dialing Nick's apartment number, and waited. It was about to go into the voice mail when Nick answered, sounding as if he was waking up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Nick, it's me." _Sounding lame, aren't we, Maggie?_ "I'm about a few minutes from your apartment…too much traffic out here…I need to talk to you about something important. It's something you kinda need to know."

"Huh? Oh, sure, come on over, Maggie." Nick sounded happy to hear from her. His sleepy state even disappeared when he heard her voice. "I'll wait outside for you."

"You don't need to walk me in," Maggie replied, sticking her head out the window to see if any cars were moving forward and what was causing them to cease moving. "I know where you live and I don't need an escort."

"If it's this important, I think you'd need one," Nick answered back. And what that, he hung up.

~00~

The Malibu pulled into the parking lot of Nick's apartment about half an hour later. _Damn Vegas traffic_, Maggie thought as she parked in a visitor's spot, seeing Nick at the foot of the back stairs, waiting for her. "You didn't have to wait there," she called over as she got out of the car and locked it. "Nick, I can take care of myself."

Nick came over to her and held out his arm. "Yes, I do," he replied. "I sense it's important and that we need to talk. I haven't seen you much lately. I miss you in the lab all the time. Grissom lets you work with Greg and be demoted and then Ecklie pushes you to go to the field. You want to take it easy and be alone, I can tell."

Maggie took Nick's arm and walked arm-in-arm with him across the parking lot and up the stairs. "Yeah, well…it is important, _very_ important. And I think I need your help."

"You know, anything you need, I'll help you with." Nick, ever the gentleman, unlocked his apartment door and opened it for Maggie, letting her go in first as he unhooked his arm from her.

"Yes, well…" Maggie trailed, looking at his living room where, so many time, they've played with each other and even napped together. She sat down at the fold-out couch nearby, where Nick had usually designated their naps after their shifts, and waited until he came to sit next to her.

"So, what's up?" Nick asked as soon as he sat down next to her. "How did everything go?"

Maggie hesitated in telling Nick everything, but stopped herself when he took her hands and started to rub them affectionately. _What do I have to fear? He loves me. _ "Well, yes, ummm…they said I didn't have any sexually…transmitted…diseases, but ummm, they said I was pregnant."

Nick stopped rubbing her hands for a second, but then continued. "Are you sure about it?" he asked, shocked.

"Yes, and it's not your child." Maggie then started to cry, sobbing, "Nick, I don't know how to be a mother. I'm too immature for this. I'm not ready to become one. I'm only twenty-nine years old. I just started to take care of myself and learned all I needed to know. I know who murdered my parents and everybody else and had kidnapped and raped me. I don't know…"

Maggie lost her words in another sob, losing control of herself, very frightened of her future.

Nick, on the other hand, was uncharacteristically calm, keeping his cool. He tried calming Maggie down, saying, "Shhh, Maggie, you know I'm here for you. If your brothers get too hard on you, you can leave and come here. But, I don't think they'd kick out a pregnant woman from their home."

"You don't understand!" Maggie tried calming down, but started to wail like a child. "Eddie and Chris don't want me around anymore! They said not to instigate in things that were originally said to be dead. They said not to open our parents' evidence box and not to go after the killer. But, Nick, I _knew_ the killer was going to, anyway, whether I did or not! Grace blames me for everything, of course. She said it to my face last night at dinner, too. She said, 'I'm tired of you instigating into everything, Maggie, and it's your fault, simply put. You put this family into danger and now, you're going to be turned out. I want you out of here before Christmas comes around.' Can you believe her, Nick? I have to leave before Christmas comes. And Eddie and Chris completely agreed with her!"

Nick's face suddenly turned to stone.

"Then," Maggie continued, strangely calming down, "there's Robbie. He can't say anything, seeing as how everybody now know sign language, at my urging, so they can control him better and discipline him. Now, all I get from him is, 'When are you going back to being a librarian?' Everybody agrees with him and tells me to go find a job, a place of my own, and leave. Nick, they don't know yet! They'll turn me out either way, whether I keep the child or not!"

She then threw herself into Nick's shoulder, crying. She felt better, now that she let everything out, but could not think past it. She felt selfish to take advantage of Nick that way – to stress him out more than ever before – but she could not help it.

After an hour of crying on Nick's shoulder, Maggie sniffled, sighed and asked for the tissue. Nick, silent for the whole time, went to grab the box from his bedroom, giving Maggie a moment to think. She then thought of something and had to ask Nick. It was hard trying to persuade him to follow through, but Maggie was sure to make it.

Calming down and trying to make her extremely red and puffy face recede, the young woman tried to smile. Nick grinned back, allowing her the perfect time to require…

"Nick, I need to ask you something." When he looked to her again, she continued. "Nick, I know how you feel. You want to go after Jason Napolitano because of what he's done to me. By all rights, this child should have been yours. I'm sure you're not ready for it, either, because we're not people who settle down…not yet, that is. By all means, we should be having the time of our lives, instead of worrying about this bastard, who could be terrorizing Vegas in the next few weeks and then disappearing again. No more innocent lives need to be spared."

Maggie sighed. "Nick, I want you to promise me…_promise me_…that you won't go after him, please. I know how angry you are –"

"Damn right I am!" Nick's dark eyes flashed the anger and emotion that he had to hold back for so long. "Maggie, you don't understand. If I could, I could have hung him from the highest tree and be done with it."

"But it'll end your career," Maggie pointed out. "Mine is already done with. It's just a matter of time before Mobley calls the Board, deems me dangerous and fires me or something. I could end up back in an institution because they could declare me insane. Or, you can promise me that you won't do anything stupid and let me handle it."

"I don't want to lose you again, don't you understand?" Nick yelled back. "I don't want to lose you again, Maggie. You're too precious to me. I love you, you love me, and we all know it. And I think we've all known it before we've come to say it."

"If you can't afford to lose me, then why not let me go?" Maggie asked back calmly. "Let me go and confront the killer, if I could. Even if I didn't, and you did something to Jason, then we'd both be separated, either way: me to an institution and you to jail. We'll both lose our careers and never see each other again."

"I don't like it," Nick growled.

"I don't either," Maggie agreed. "But, you have to agree with the sense behind it. I love you, Nick, and I would do anything in this world to protect you, even your interests."

Nick took her hands again, sighing, calming down as well. "If it means the end of this investigation, then let it." He sighed again. "I promise nothing, Maggie, but to let things go as they may. I'm already tired of Ecklie nosing into my private life."

Maggie smiled back. "So am I, Nick…so am I."


	29. Conclusions

The entire lab already knew after a few days. Her family knew about it. They were all against her and knew that this was an emotional letdown for Maggie, who sought the support of everyone around her. Those who critiqued it, much as Grissom did in the early days of this shocking discovery, also knew that whoever did this to her, Jason Napolitano, was trying to ruin her. He started with her parents, worked his way to stalking Maggie, murdered more people and now, kidnapped, raped and left her for dead.

He was there to taunt her, as he did when she was younger, and more so since she came back to Vegas. He murdered her parents (they knew that as fact, at the present time, as the case winded down without Maggie around to question everything) and that he even murdered the Holidays.

Greg worked harder than ever, separating each DNA strand and even told whose was whose. The conclusions were drawn and the stories became fact and real life. There was no accomplice, in any of the murders, and no one to help the lone killer named Jason Napolitano.

Even shifting through the evidence of Maggie's kidnapping and rape, Grissom saw the same strands of DNA standing out like a red flag. Days afterward, reading the evidence on paper and drawing his own conclusions, Grissom pictured the scenes in each murder and the circumstances that led the team to where they were, at the present moment. With the recent discovery of latex and other material underneath and the actual note that was sent to Maggie in South Carolina, the team figured out why the killer – Jason Napolitano – had escaped prison for murder twelve years before.

Using testimonies, interviews, pictures and DNA – their evidence – Grissom drew the stories into his mind.

_The circumstances had built up to this one day, this one night. It was not seen coming by anyone but the killer, who thought that his actions were justified. January 3, 1991…it had been a normal day for the O'Keefe family in every way, as the killer noted. It was a few days before Maggie was to go back to the institution in Portland, Maine, so the family had taken the time to spend as many hours with the girl as possible. Unknown to them, under the happiness of a family life, was a more sinister force, Jason Napolitano._

_Napolitano was a teenager, about Maggie's age, who had stalked her when he lived at the Farrows' house and had been, in a way, mentored by Officer Michael O'Keefe when caught in an illegal act. This teenager, a killer (as he called himself), planned the murders carefully and schemed how he could have Maggie to himself. He loved her in a strange way and it all her fault that he was like that. She, and her family, had to pay somehow, because of their protection of her. That night was to show her who was boss._

_Caught many times drinking and driving underage and considered to be a bad influence towards everyone around him, Napolitano had been named as a taboo subject by many parents in the neighborhood and at the high school. Raised without supervision and encouraged to feed his sexual appetite, the boy went out and raped girl after girl, but found something special in Maggie O'Keefe. However, her family barred him from her, just like any other sensible parental unit would have done. Julie O'Keefe even threatened Napolitano with her gun, sticking it in his face as he climbed the ladder to a window that led to Maggie's room._

_To Napolitano, however, it was more like a matter of pride. There had been no girl that he could not catch and no girl that he could not taunt. Maggie was easy prey and there was no doubt about it. Her family, on the hand, was in the way of everything and something had to be done about it. After all, Officer O'Keefe was annoying – yet kind enough – by taking each offense off the books and sparing the teenager from jail time._

_Julie O'Keefe, his overprotective wife, especially even needed a lesson. Maggie's brothers, Eddie and Chris…those two he had no need of because they didn't interfere with much of anything. They could live until they were needed later. Then, when the two were no longer usable, they could be as easily killed off._

_The night of the murders made everything easier. The parents may have fought against being killed and struggled to keep alive, but Napolitano was stronger. Breaking into the yard, killing the family dog and making noise – a signature style of gunfire and bangs – needed perfect timing. Fortunately for Napolitano, the circumstances were such and the murders were completed. He kept the murder weapon, knew that he was never going to be questioned about the murders, but the Farrows, who have been shamed and kept quiet about their custody of him._

_And best of all, he scared Maggie to a point where she could not name the murderer or give out any details. Indeed, she could not name him or possibly remember him, even in a black suit – a threat had silenced her when she hid under the kitchen table – and did not know any other people, anyway. She barely saw him next door because he had escaped the tedium of the old people. All she saw was a teenager trying to get at him, but not seeing a single face._

_A mistake was made and it almost cost him. His black clothing was ripped, possibly from the parents fighting him, but it was no matter. No DNA was present on it but the victims (a victory, as the latex gloves and arm coverings underneath everything had worked to his advantage). Anyway, Napolitano was not in their filing system except with minor offenses and Child Services files. He was going to be safe for a long time because computers and other technology had not caught up with the L.V.M.P.D._

_However, Napolitano was smarter and got to her when at school, before she left for college. He stalked her, molested her and assaulted her in the janitor's closet. She wouldn't say a word. And when she did – it surprised everyone, especially Napolitano – she kept a mum word about who the person was. The police knew that he was her molester, but made no move on him. Why? Because he knew that he was untouchable and that there was no evidence. He knew that the law was on his side and, again, he got away with agitating her. There was no proof and, without it, there was no case. It was her word against his and he won._

_Time, however, was not on Napolitano's side. Those twelve years, with a successful career and a dumbass wife and three nagging children, had not been kind. Hiding murders had been harder than he thought (a 1999 arrest for assaulting police officers at one of his shows was not anything he could have helped), but worse was his longing for Maggie O'Keefe. Her parents may have been gone, but trying to get to her was harder. Her brothers protected her better in those days. They kept an eye on her, even from far away._

_Years past, as they always did, and colleges, militaries and careers took over their lives. They graduated. They went on with their lives. But Napolitano knew that Maggie was not about to be considered insignificant in the world. He quickly saw a change in her immediately after high school and watched her with interest. He stalked her once again, when out of state for his shows, and watched her closely._

_Suddenly, the mysteries of the past came to haunt her and she wanted to solve them. She wanted to solve her parents' murders and she wanted to bring the killer to justice. With each new clue, Maggie drew closer to him. In college, she followed everything carefully and had asked the L.V.M.P.D. for the evidence box. Denied again and again during her college years, Maggie worked endlessly to get what she wanted and eventually, she did, after she joined the crime lab in Las Vegas, moving back when threatened._

_After making Napolitano nervous for the first time, Maggie achieved a degree in college and worked more to her goal. Something had to be done soon enough, but time had to be carefully planned out. Napolitano was usually away from his home – away from his wife and children all the time – and could carefully craft a plan._

_Stalking her still, Napolitano, in-between duties to his career and his people, threatened her, possibly murdered Jackie Polsen to teach her a lesson. Although the evidence pointed to his usual break-ins, there had been no proof. However, it had been enough to scare Maggie. In South Carolina, when a note was written – Napolitano wrote it and thought it appropriate to have her back in Las Vegas or everyone else in the her family perished – Maggie ran back as soon as possible. Gaining a job with the L.V.M.P.D., however, was not in the scheme of things. She worked more on the case, had grabbed the evidence box and was on his tail. Again, something had to be done._

_The Holidays, the most Christian family in their neighborhood, were a good target. One night, Napolitano killed them, copying the O'Keefe murders except with a twist: everyone was killed. The scene was sickening, even to Napolitano, who ceased murdering after that point. But the thirst was not out of him yet. Stories were being circulated, especially in the crime lab, and its source had to be stopped. The media was even catching on, and his career as a magician had to cease, before he was caught once more._

_Maggie was the center of everything – it angered him – and she had to be taught a lesson, too. Except, Napolitano decided not to murder her that time when he kidnapped the C.S.I., but leave her for dead or to let her live (whichever came first, but he could only keep her alive for so long). If she lived, she was sure to be pregnant (Napolitano had many bastard children and his wife hated it) and it would ruin her life and her career. It would kick her depression back in or make her angry enough to kill him. It was either him or her._

_The kidnapping, raping and attempted murder of Maggie O'Keefe had been perfectly planned and perfectly executed. Nobody had caught Napolitano yet and it excited him that, with another chance to kill, he had another chance to disappear, like the magician he was. He had a chance to kill Maggie O'Keefe before she finally pulled the trigger on him or had Brass put the cuffs on him._

Grissom stopped his imaginings and dismissed them as educated guesses, something that he would never dare to do. The evidence pointed to everything, but half of it was assumptions and stories told secondhand. Although the main storyline had been the same – albeit somewhat missing in detail – Maggie O'Keefe had never mentioned who murdered her friend or if she felt as if she was being stalked in the years away from Las Vegas. But one thing seemed right in Grissom's mind: if Maggie (or Nick, if he was stupid enough to run) could do nothing to Jason Napolitano, then he would, and could, do something to her or her family or to innocent people again. It was us against them, him against her. And it was all up to her on what to do.

The night shift supervisor sighed. The lab – behind his back, and he knew it – concluded that the killer was sure to strike again, but had no idea when and where. Anyone could be a target to the wrath and lust of Jason Napolitano and there was no one to be spared. It was just a matter of time – of when and where – before he struck again.

_And we have no time to spare. We have to find the killer before he does anything again. It could save us lives and it could save us our people. Maggie's career is basically over, but I still need Nick. If he stays out of everything, like he has been, and hold back on his anger, I'll still have him on my team. It's selfish, but it'll have to do._

_Mobley and Ecklie would do anything to discredit anything on my shift and split us up. It's coming soon. Catherine is ready to be a supervisor. But, I'm not. I'm not ready to give up my team just yet._


	30. High School Massacre

It was about a day later – after Grissom had imagined the killer's motives perfectly – before any of the team knew that the killer was going to strike again. Instead of striking a family (as everyone had expected, except for Grissom), however, he went for Vas Vegas High School and its students. About the time the students were allowed to be released for Christmas Break, the killer struck and shot, sneaking into the school when it had started and striking when the first bell rang for lunch and then, afternoon classes.

Nobody could report it in full – the killer was everywhere in the school and knew all of the old shortcuts – and most didn't have the time except to say it was an emergency. Called in at about twelve noon exactly, the school's secretary was given a minute before the nine-one-one dispatcher heard the shots. Then, the phone was cut dead.

The worst was assumed and scores of emergency personal were sent out immediately to the high school. Although none had been successful as of yet to catch the killer, all knew that it was a matter of time before they had to call in more reinforcements or to call in the military.

Maggie was sitting in her office once more, writing another report for a case (Ecklie had her on too many cases and not working in the lab, always away from Nick, after he found out about the affair) when she heard about the emergency call. There was noise outside of her office door, so she moved to hear what was going on and heard an initial report on the incident.

"There's a shooting on East Sahara," she heard from a police officer when she stuck her head out to hear the commotion outside her door. "We need reinforcements. Brass has called for them. The one-man shooter made it a massacre. People think there are more people inside. There's also a chance there are bombs planted in there. Explosions were reported."

"Wait, what's going on?" Maggie called to them as they passed her.

Out of the two, only one stopped to answer her. "Las Vegas High School has a shooter on the loose within the premises. Kids are about to get out for their vacation and apparently, he choose a time to gun them down." He shrugged his shoulders, as if showing to her that he couldn't do anything about it but do his job.

"Is there any idea about the shooter?" Maggie asked. "Do they know who he is?" Cold fear ripped into her body. She assumed the worst, just as everybody else did, but didn't want to say anything unless she heard the words. She had an idea who was at the high school, but wanted to hear some confirmation. She wanted to be wrong and it to be another case.

"It appears to be the killer from the Holidays, according to the reports," the officer replied urgently. "Listen, Ms. O'Keefe, I gotta run. It's all I know."

"I hope it isn't him," Maggie called back as the officer ran. Behind him, teams of criminologists, police officers and detectives scurried past him.

Nobody knew how serious it was, but by the way everyone was running, Maggie knew that Jason Napolitano – alias Harry Pit – was at it again. This time, it was to be a showdown; to show that he was going to escape and continue his criminal sprees until he was dead himself. It was a race to the end and Maggie knew what it was: a competition. She had been his target and had been an object to tease. And she could be the one to stop them, to get herself into the trap he sprang on her and others innocents.

Jim Brass passed the C.S.I. on his way out the door to the high school. Maggie knew, on the instant, that this was her ride out to the high school. So, she stopped the detective, but he continued to run towards the door.

Holding onto his sports jacket as he continued to run, Maggie said, "Brass, please, I need to go. Please take me with you."

Brass hesitated as he stopped and turned to her. "Maggie, you know the regulations. You're too close to the suspect. You could be putting people in greater danger than you realize. Grissom and Ecklie could have my ass in a sling if you go with me."

"And I'll take the fall for you," Maggie said, "just as I've done with everyone else. Come on, Brass, you know that my time here is about up. I took the blame and said it was my fault that Nick and I were together. I told Ecklie that it was my fault that Grissom wasn't looking under his nose and looking under a microscope. I made it that way on purpose. I'll take the blame for you bringing me to Vegas High."

"How do you know that it was Vegas High?" Brass was incredulous.

"Who cares?" Maggie threw her arms in the air. "I know that I have to be there. I can't just sit here and watch the news. I don't want to join the action, Brass. But I know that I'm going to be the only one who can stop it, if Nick doesn't do anything to extract revenge for things already done. And I don't want him doing anything to endanger himself. I want him to stand by and let me do what I have to do."

The C.S.I. continued when Brass gave her a questioning look. "Dammit, I won't be the person who puts the others in danger. I'm taking it out for good. This is my problem and I brought it upon myself and everybody else. I'm the only person who can stop Jason Napolitano and get him to disappear permanently. It's him or me now."

Brass, too, threw his arms in the air, copying Maggie's frustrated actions. "I give up. You win. Just meet me in the Tahoe in two minutes. I gotta be there to meet up Grissom and everybody else within ten minutes. He needs to be there when the shooting's done."

"Might need an extra hand," Maggie replied as she grabbed her kit. She then grabbed her jacket at the doorway and followed Brass, feeling relieved that she was chosen again. "You never know with Grissom sometimes."

"Yeah, really," Brass commented as he went out to the exit. "Grissom will have me paying him back for a while, next I'll know. I'm going to regret this damned business."


	31. Nobody Can Stop It

Traffic was brutal when Brass and Maggie made their way to the high school until the detective turned on the small siren in the Tahoe. Then, about ten minutes later, both reaches the high school, but were stopped by military personal – a sergeant – who demanded to know who they were.

"Dammit, man, I'm Detective Brass!" Shoving a badge and I.D. in his face, Maggie looked over and passed over hers as well, watching as the detective's face went from pink to bright red as he rudely grabbed hers.

This made the Sergeant nervous. "Sir, Mad'm, I can't let you move unless I have orders –"

"And I have orders from Sheriff Mobley _and_ the Mayor of Las Vegas to get my ass in there!" Brass yelled back. "Let us move in! We have our assignments. C.S.I. O'Keefe is part of Gil Grissom's team."

The Sergeant paled and then called over his superior officer. After conversing with him in whispers for a minute, he let Brass and Maggie go into the parking lot. "Gil Grissom and his team are to the right, in the middle parking lot," the Sergeant instructed as he handed back their I.D.s. "They've been instructed to stay there until the killer is dead or quarantined. We haven't been told to go in yet, but it's getting there. The situation is worsening."

"I'm sure," was Brass' reply as he took the I.D.s from the Sergeant and pressed his foot on the gas. Getting through, after meeting with military personal, however, was tougher. All departments were weaving in and out of the Tahoe's pathway. The high school was crowded to the brim with people, be it police, military or the media, who were pushed back again and again.

"Move aside," Brass yelled out the window as they tried to park, still angry. "Move aside! Police back-up are on the way! Move aside, make a path, dammit!"

Maggie gaped out the windows as Brass threw her I.D. back at her. _So, this is the definition of chaos._ Indeed, the area – the first one hundred feet in front of the high school, that is – was taped off. SWAT teams and other police personal were everywhere, but none seemed unsuccessful in finding the killer (or killers, as it had seemed at first, and might be the case, if Jason Napolitano had an accomplice, which Maggie doubted). The high school was draped in darkness, lights in the classroom dead, and seemed quiet until a window was broken and another dead body – be it a student, police, etc. – was thrown out. By then, a series of shots from different departments would ring in that direction, but none could stop the killer…or killers.

The first thing Maggie saw as Brass parked just outside the high school was a group of students leaving the educational facility – gunfire everywhere behind them as they escaped – and a lone SWAT team member being thrown out of the second story window. _Ouch, this isn't a pretty site._ _The gunman MUST have an accomplice. Otherwise, he's a strong man. Could it be…? No, it can't be Jason. He may be strong enough to do this much damage, but I doubt it. They said it was him. Could it be him?_

Maggie got out of the car and joined Brass and the other C.S.I.s behind the barriers. Nick, Sara, Warrick and Catherine looked at the two joining them in utter shock, while Grissom looked on with disapproval, his stoic face of stone gone. "Maggie, aren't you…?" Catherine began.

"I don't care if I'm supposed to be here or not," Maggie interrupted. "You have to let me in. It's me or the killer. It's a competition between him and me, ever since he went after me years before. He started it. And now, I need to end it."

"Maggie, you've sacrificed enough." Nick looked at her, his eyes pleading with her to stay alive for everybody's sake. "We've talked about this already. Don't do it."

"There isn't anything you can do to stop it," Sara added. "Nobody can."

"We have everybody but the National Guard in there and they're close behind us." Warrick also put in his two cents, motioning his head to the men and women behind the barriers. "If this doesn't stop soon, we'll need them anyway. The bomb squad is supposed to be in there, but can't because the school isn't cleared. There are booby traps everywhere in there, set up days before today, so say the people who have come out. And the killer isn't interested in stopping. What makes you think you'll do it?"

Maggie almost ripped out her hair in frustration. _They don't understand! They never will. I talked with Nick about it and he still can't bear to let me go._

"Listen, please, just listen to me!" she yelled back. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

It was an impulse, but Maggie knew that it was the only way she could get in. Before anybody else could say anything – much less stop her – the C.S.I. ran towards the school, dodging medical personal, barriers, men in uniform and bullets. She sprinted for the doors of the school, not caring whether she lived or died anymore. All that mattered to her was that the killer was stopped, no matter the sacrifice.

"Maggie, stop!" someone yelled behind her (_Surely, it was Nick_). "You can't go in there! Stop!"

However, what she did not anticipate was Grissom running after her, calling her name repeatedly and trying to stop her. Grissom himself dodged the same things his co-worker had and, miraculously, managed to get through the double doors a minute behind her, but not seeing which way she turned as soon as she got into the school.


	32. Jason Napolitano

The school itself was a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode, and Maggie knew it was soon as she slowed her frantic run to a walk. Trying to breathe and taking her gun out immediately – the explosions, glass shatters and gunfire itself was enough to make her arm herself – the C.S.I. explored the halls of her old high school, looking for whoever was responsible for the damage. Soon enough, though, she found her answer.

Hallway upon hallway of the high school was deserted mostly, full of broken glass, bent and open lockers, pieces of wood from the doors and overturned desks and chairs. Occasionally, a team of uniformed men and women came through, forcing the C.S.I. to back up against a wall or hide behind something, so that they would not see her. Maggie did not need to be told to go back outside and wait for the responsible party to be turned into justice.

She wanted to do it herself, _knew_ it was her responsibility to find Jason Napolitano. After seeing the janitor's closet where she was assaulted and seeing, lettered in blood and still wet, _Margaret Jane O'Keefe and Jason Brian Napolitano_, she knew it was Jason. Even the dead body at the door – for which Jason used for the message – was his style: a bullet to the head and the back.

Maggie continued to look through the hallways carefully, but found nothing on the first two floors. On the third floor of the school – so far, finding nothing but distractions and shadows out of the corner of her eye – Maggie found the first person in the school, save for the uniformed men and women that came through the building. It was a student, a senior for sure, shaking in a fetus position on the floor. Her blonde hair and cheerleader's outfit attracted Maggie, putting down her defenses, even at a time when she should have them up.

She ran to the student carelessly, not looking to see who was there. "Hey, there, sweetie, I'm here." Maggie crouched down next to the teenager, hoping to get her to face up. She petted the cheerleader's blonde hair, trying to calm her down. "What's your name, sweetie? Who did this?"

Shaking, the blonde teenager finally sat up and looked at the C.S.I. "I'm Ashley," a little voice said. "There was a man…he was tall and had muscles, really, he did! He was wearing some mask and…and, he came into my classroom. It was English class." She sobbed. "Mrs. Jacobson was s-s-shot by him…in the head and back…it was horrible! We all ran under the desks, covered our heads. I d-d-don't know w-what happened next. I just ran, I guess."

Suddenly, Ashley the cheerleader looked over Maggie's shoulder and gasped. The C.S.I. quickly jumped up from her position, gun in hand, to handle the intruder behind them. However, she almost shot Grissom in the process.

Grissom had also his gun up, but lowered it when he saw Maggie. When he saw her do the same, he sighed with relief. "Maggie, we have to leave. The SWAT team thinks they've found the killer, Jason –"

"Jason Napolitano, we know! And he's out to kill the whole damned city if I don't get to him!" Maggie shook her head. _They still don't understand. They don't see it as I do._

"That's not the point." Grissom became impatient. "Maggie, take the girl and get out of here. We have enough victims as it is and –"

"My, my, my…what a treat we have here! We have a student and two C.S.I.s and one of them being one of the most respected in the country." An almost mechanical laughed escaped the lips of the fourth person behind everybody.

All three turned around simultaneously, facing the killer, without a mask, but in his famous black suit: Jason Napolitano, also known as Harry Pit.

_Won't you come see about me?  
I'll be alone, dancing you know it, baby  
Tell me your troubles and doubts  
Giving me everything inside and out  
And love's strange, so real in the dark  
Think of the tender things that we were working on_

_Slow change may pull us apart  
When the light gets into your heart, baby…_

Ashley trembled, about to run away from the killer, but Maggie knew better. A gun was within sight, in his hands, and Napolitano was not afraid to use it. "Don't move, darling," she whispered, petting her hair as she went to crouch down again. "Ashley, don't move. Be still. Don't move."

"That's right, Ashley, don't move." Napolitano mimicked Maggie's voice. "Yeah, listen to the slut talk. She's my bitch, child. Listen to her. She knows her stuff."

"Why, Napolitano?" Grissom asked, trying to get the killer of topic and his attention elsewhere. "The school doesn't have anything to do with the murders you've committed in the last twelve years. You've spent days, week perhaps, planting bombs and placing your machine guns. I see them everywhere. Is it worth a woman, though? You had her already. She's alive before you. Why draw her in once more? Turn yourself in. It's a useless cause."

Napolitano _tsked_, putting down his gun momentarily, but leaving it ready to shoot, if necessary. "Grissom, Grissom, Grissom…it's a matter of cat and mouse – you and me. Maggie here has been the apple of my eye for years now. And I love her. So, what fun to play a little trick on her! What fun to finally meet her again, alive and pregnant even! I'm surprised that the bastard of a lover she has outside hasn't come in to meet me yet. Did she make him promise not to take his revenge and kill me? You know I would have killed him before he got to me."

Maggie blushed, knowing he was referring to Nick, but hid it quickly. She had more important matter to take care of. _He's loved me this whole time and wanted to show me what he could do! To tease me, to stop me from turning him in, he tried to bend me to his will. It failed, so he's trying again. This time, he'll take more and more lives to achieve it._

"It's just too bad that she doesn't love me back." Napolitano _tsked _once more and suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Ashley by the hair, from Maggie's comforting grasp. Screaming, the teenager struggled against the grip, but was thrown against the nearest wall when she kicked Napolitano. Dazed, confused and not thinking clearly when she got back up again, the cheerleader saw an opportunity and ran.

"Ashley, no, don't do it!" Maggie's plea was in vain. Before Ashley got far down the hallway, Napolitano simply sighed and pulled his gun up, firing past both C.S.I.s and hitting the teenager directly in the head, killing her instantly.

Maggie gasped, putting her hand to her mouth to cover it. Vomit threatened to come up, but she stopped it before it came up. She had to be strong. She had to stop the killer.


	33. Don't You Forget About Me

_Don't you forget about me  
Don't you forget about me_

Will you stand above me,  
Look my way, never love me?  
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling  
Down, down, down…

Will you recognize me,  
Call my name or walk on by?  
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling  
Down, down, down, down…

A tear came down Maggie's face, but she wiped it away immediately. "It's me you want, obviously, Jason," she said finally, confronting him. "Why don't you let Grissom here leave and let it between us two finally? You won the first battle. I'm alive and whole still. You failed in killing me, though. This is your second chance to try it. Let's battle it out, once and for all."

"Oh, you see, my dear Maggie, it isn't that simple." Napolitano lowered his gun again and rolled his eyes, walking towards and finally, around Maggie, going in circles around her and Grissom. "You see, I _have_ to kill you this time. No qualms about it, I have to kill you and Grissom both. I have yet to make my final vanishing act and nobody could know _how_ it's done this time. Nobody will be able to find me again, not even my nagging, idiot wife."

Grissom tried to distract Napolitano again as he circled him again. "So why murder the Holidays? Did you stage it to frighten us or make it so that you can show that you can murder again?"

Maggie wished Grissom would shut up, but it was buying them time. The longer the delay, the more time the reinforcements would have in getting the killer. The both of them could get the chance to kill him or face the consequences or not even trying.

"The Holidays were easy to kill." Napolitano walked over the Grissom again, standing in front of him. "They were like the O'Keefes, but at the same time, the kids were idiots. They were watching me from somewhere and I knew one of the bastards saw me. The little kid came downstairs and I shot him where he was, easy as that. Oh, killing them is easy. Disappearing and getting the other two upstairs…now, _that_ was that hard part. But I got it done. And the police didn't catch me!"

Napolitano laughed – with feeling, almost, which made Maggie shudder – and stood before Grissom still. "You see, Grissom," he continued, "I've wanted to get to you, too. But I had never received my chance…until this very moment."

Within a second, the killer grabbed Grissom, holding him in a headlock and putting the gun to his head. Facing Maggie – viewing everything in a blur, almost – Napolitano grinned. "So, anymore questions, now?" he asked. "Shall I perform my next act, Ms. O'Keefe, my lovely, old assistant in everything?"

Maggie stood agape, mouth open, and shook her head. "Don't do this, please, Jason," she begged. "Grissom had nothing to do with it. You and I have to battle this out. It's between us. You don't need him."

"Oh, but I do." Napolitano moved the gun closer to Grissom's head, resting the barrel on the edge of his nose, pushing his glasses to the floor. "You see, he's just as much as an instigator as you are. He'll encourage the rest of the team to work. And finally, you have the blonde bitch of a friend he has investigating everything. And then you have his stupid skinny-assed lover and two cronies helping him, as well. Oh, and how can we forget the detective?" Napolitano sneered. "That fat fuck is going down, just like the rest of you are. He's just as much as a busybody as you all are."

_Don't you try to pretend  
It's my feeling we'll win in the end  
I won't harm you or touch your defenses  
Vanity and security_

Don't you forget about me  
I'll be alone, dancing you know it, baby  
Going to take you apart  
I'll put us back together at heart, baby

"You're my only heart and soul, Margaret Jane O'Keefe." Napolitano's features softened, but then turned hard again quickly. "It'll break my heart to kill you, but I have to. Say goodbye to your boss now, like a good little girl."

Maggie was shocked, not knowing how to move. But she knew what to do.

Her gun was still misplaced on the floor. All it would take was a good aim and she had it. One thing that Officer Michael O'Keefe had done before he was murdered was to teach his daughter how to fire a gun well. He had succeeded and it had saved his daughter many years later.

Maggie was quick. Scooping her gun from the dirty floor – scraping her knuckles as she picked up her firearm near some broken glass – the C.S.I. took aim and hesitated for a moment, looking in the eyes of the killer of her parents and many others, the father of her unborn child.

"What, can't take a chance and kill me?" Even in the last moments, Jason Napolitano taunted Maggie. "Come on, Maggie, my little Maggie…look at me. Kill me. But it'll kill you to do it, my little love, wouldn't it? No matter. I'll haunt you for the rest of your days, just as I've always done. Don't you ever forget about me, though."

Sweat poured down Maggie's face, but she ignored it. Time was ticking. She had no more time to spare if the killer was going to continue his usual rambles. Before she knew it, she worked her fingers. Within a second of Napolitano's last words, her gun fired, hitting her target directly in the middle of his forehead.

Grissom – silent except for a grunt as he was dropped to the floor – almost seemed to have sighed in relief as the killer, Jason Napolitano, fell backwards to the floor. A look of disbelief on his face in the last moment of his life, Napolitano looked almost shocked that he was defeated for the last time. He lost the last battle.

_Don't you forget about me  
I'll be alone, dancing you know it, baby  
Going to take you apart  
I'll put us back together at heart, baby_

Don't you forget about me  
Don't you forget about me

_Will you stand above me,  
Look my way, never love me?  
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling  
Down, down, down…_

Will you recognize me,  
Call my name or walk on by?  
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling  
Down, down, down, down…

The gun was still suspended in the air. Maggie had not realized what she had done until Grissom had come up to her, blood on his clothes. At first, Maggie thought that Grissom had been hit in the chest, not knowing if she shot again, but the blood splatter on his shirt was not consistent with it. The last of Jason Napolitano had stained it.

Grissom stood before Maggie, guiding her arm down, along with the gun. "It's over, Maggie," he said. "It's over. He's dead. You can put your gun down."

Shaking her head and obeying Grissom as he guided her still (the gun went back to her belt), Maggie surveyed the scene. The dead bodies of their killer and the cheerleader were on the floor of the hallway. Broken glass was still scattered everywhere within sight. Gunshots were absent. Silence reigned.

The war seemed over…_over_. And yet, it seemed to be the beginning of the end. _In the end is my beginning…_

An army of footsteps were heard down the hallway. Grissom waved a team over when they finally came into view – SWAT and the bomb squad that passed the C.S.I.s – and talked to them, pointed to the dead bodied, but Maggie heard nothing. The words seemed to float from one ear to the next, not involving her.

Finally, words seemed to make sense. They were understood. Fingers were pointed, orders were told. _What did it matter now?_ Grissom motioned to her, telling her to leave. But she stood where she was, immobile as if she were a statue. She could not…_would not_…move.

"Get her out of here." Grissom looked to one of the SWAT members. "Tell Jim Brass to drive her home or to Headquarters, so she could be watched. It doesn't matter where, but I prefer she was home with her brothers."

_Yes, that made sense. I could be with Chris and Eddie and even Robbie and Grace. But, what does matter anymore when they all want me to go away? Do they matter anymore? Does Nick matter to me now? It made sense to continue breathing, to continue living…but what about them? Do they matter, too?_

"Get my team in here. We have a crime scene to process and I need them in here. Call Ecklie and have his teams in here as well. We need everybody we can." Grissom continued to issue orders, aware of Maggie's presence in the area still. "And get her out of here!"

_As you walk on by,  
Will you call my name?  
As you walk on by,  
Will you call my name  
When you walk away?_

Or will you walk away?  
Will you walk on by?  
Come on – call my name  
Will you call my name?

Someone grabbed Maggie and walked her down the hallway, navigating her. Passing the crime scenes – it was sure to be her fault – she looked, for the last time, on the face of Jason Napolitano, the nightmare of her life for years. A red hole decorated him, a man of black clothing, for his final seconds of life. _And it's my fault…_

"Come on, Ms. O'Keefe." The SWAT team member laughed nervously, as if to dispel the nightmare they all faced, going down the stairs. "The bombs have been disabled and everybody's been saved. Well, not everybody, but you know what I mean, right?"

Maggie walked down the hallways of the high school with the man, knowing she left the scene of a crime she herself committed. Somehow, though, she knew that life would never be the same without the nightmare. And yet, it should be a relief. It should be making her feel good that the killer was gone – brought to justice, in a way – and that it was through her own hands. It wasn't though. There was no satisfaction in killing Jason Napolitano.

Outdoors, as the two came through the broken double doors, a light wind blew. Catherine, Sara, Warrick and Nick were gone from behind the barrier already. The police were directing the traffic and redirecting students and their parents. It was brutal to navigate through, and yet, _there seemed to be no point anymore_.

Reporters swarmed the doors of the high school suddenly, looking to Maggie for the answers, but she pushed them away quickly as they shot questions at her. "I have no comment. You can see Sheriff Mobley for more answers." Keeping it as her answer as she went away from the general chaos – leaving Mobley with all of the dirty work – the C.S.I. walked away, never looking back again.

_What was it that Catherine told me one time, when we were still gathering together for breakfast every morning? "__Never_ _doubt and_ _never look back_. _That's how I live my life." She told Grissom the same thing, if I remember right. But in this case, I don't think I can't stop doubting and looking back. It'll never end. Jason is right: he'll probably haunt me to the end of my days. I'm carrying his child. That's enough for me to bear, as well as his child._

Before Jim Brass could grab the C.S.I., Maggie had disappeared in the crowds around the high school. He could not find her, even after walking around the outside of the high school several times. After an hour of searching for her, Brass gave up and went to the Tahoe, intent on getting back to Headquarters and avoiding the media as Grissom and his team processed the scenes of horror at Vegas High School.

Brass later found out later that Maggie walked home alone to her brothers' place, a good few hours away: sad, forlorn and careless, not caring about the future anymore, the way she lived her own life for a long time. And Brass was sure it will pass with her, but time was never on her side. _Time, however, will help to heal her someday. It'll take time, but it'll come._


	34. Epilogue: February 28, 2005

_I'm writing this on a plane ride back east, where I belong. I've leaving Las Vegas for the rest of my life, if I can help it. I could not stand it anymore. I had nowhere to turn, no one to help me. Every person I turned to had turned me down, pushed me away or simply could not help me anymore. It was a fight to the end, to get to where I needed to go, but I think going back to Connecticut – to visit my surviving family and to live there in peace – will be the best answer for me and my son._

_It all came to a close on December 22, 2003: the day I killed Jason Napolitano, the father of my son, who held Gil Grissom in a headlock, threatening to kill him because of how we solved the cases against him. He was guilty as sin – making everything a showdown between him and me in the end – and I shot him before he killed again. I saved everybody, they all said. I became a hero overnight. Well, I went from victim to hero and Vegas ate it up. All of a sudden, they knew me for my actions at Las Vegas High School and not for the work I've done for years._

_The news reporters loved me and knocked on my brothers' door constantly, asking for me because they wanted words from the person who killed a mass murderer, the same that kidnapped and impregnated her. Usually, they were refused. I sometimes talked if I answered the door, but not often. It annoyed me that too many of them came._

_Jesus Christ, it was a nightmare. My brothers, Eddie and Chris, were not pleased with me still, especially with the new media attention yet again, and did not like me around anymore. Robbie was devastated, of course, and Grace started to hate me more and more each day. My nephew knew of my pain and suffering (he wanted me to stay) and my sister-in-law simply did not care anymore, humiliating me in every way. I could not take it anymore._

_Since I do not make my brothers choose between their significant others and me, their own sister, I let them throw me out of the house on New Year's Eve: pregnant, practically broke because of medical bills and nearly friendless. All of the people – save for those at the lab – who knew me stayed away from me. I was too famous, I was too dangerous._

_I immediately went over to Nick's apartment, of course. He had been waiting for me to leave my brothers' place for a few months, admitting to me how much he truly loved me. I loved him too, of course, and it helped when I moved in the next day and lived with him. However, I needed a new job, to help pay for the rent when I was finally fired (it was sure to come), and quickly got a day job, working at Headquarters at night. However, with few hours of sleep and an advancing end in sight, I saw my career of being a C.S.I. go down the drain._

_Mobley called me in one day in early January and made an appointment with the Board with me, to determine whether or not my shooting of Jason Napolitano was justified. It was, of course, and I felt guilty about it like hell, but it did not go through the Sheriff's deaf ears. He wanted the meeting and to make me humiliated._

_Of course, just as I expected, at the Board meeting, I was told of how dangerous I could be. Despite my record and being one of the top C.S.I.s in the country, I was considered a liability to the city of Las Vegas, especially to their criminalists' department, and was asked to leave. Their excuse was my depression and shooting the "suspect" of many murders, although they all knew that he was a killer and the murderer of my parents, amongst others. There was evidence, for God's sake!_

_They also said it was also an unjustified shooting – despite reports of Grissom's team of it being otherwise – and that made up their final decision. I was finally fired. Grissom and his team may have fought hard after the decision, but it remained the same: I was fired._

_It hurt. It hurt a _lot_. Everybody – save Ecklie and his team, maybe – knew I wasn't a danger to anybody. But I was labeled as such and almost put into another institution permanently, but Grissom intervened on my behalf and I was set free after a day of hell in a Las Vegas mental institution, which was almost as worse as the one I was in as a child. Of course, being pregnant did not help me because I almost miscarried my child when they medicated me heavily, almost killing me as well._

_I rested for the next six months and even prayed. I was agnostic, but suddenly, I found myself praying to some unknown presence, asking him or her to tell me what to do or to guide me onto the right path. It seemed like I was happy and had a good life – a good man to take care of me and a child that was not his and a roof over my head and such – but I was scared and confused. Having the child of my parents' murderer felt wrong almost, but I wanted my child to _live_ and _thrive_. I wanted to, as well. I wanted to for my whole life._

_My God, Nick was wonderful to me. Until my baby was born in July, he cared for me and made sure that I was ok. Our relationship was wonderful and it felt right to me to stay with him. I mean, we had an almost-instant attraction to each other since Day One. It stayed with us in the next months and the feelings became stronger on both sides. I know it sounds cheesy and dramatic, but I felt it to be true in both thought and soul. I knew Nick was to be what they called "The One". I don't know if he knew it as well, but I was sure he knew something attracted us together._

_However, things seemed to change drastically. I mean, life seemed so _perfect_ and amazing that I didn't realize the flaws in this plan of mine, this plan to stay with Nick until "Death do us part" and such. We weren't engaged or anything (we talked about it briefly and laughed), but living together made people talk. They thought something was wrong with people living together and not being married and the woman is carrying someone else's child. It seemed to be an omen of doom, almost, and it seemed to be, at least, to me, when I thought about it._

_After almost dying from giving birth to my son, I made a living will, appointing Nick the guardian of my son in case I was able to care for him myself – named for my father, Michael – and it seemed to have pissed him off for some reason. I mean, he supported me when I said I wanted to keep my child when nobody else would. However, I don't think he was ready to raise a child, much less help me, which is possibly why. We barely started our relationship and had started living together. I mean, what man will tolerate it, must less handle it, less than a year after being officially together with someone?_

_I don't think I was ready, either, but I had to be. Being a mother was tough, underappreciated really, and with us on different shifts of the day, tensions grew. Nick didn't know what to do with a baby during the day, if he was there. I pulled my full weight and took over. I appointed different people to watch him during the day – using the Farrows, usually – but Nick didn't like it. I asked for another suggestion, knowing he had none (his parents and siblings were in Texas and could not see him all the time, although, once, when they saw us together, they immediately disapproved of me), and we argued more about it. I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't want to fight with him, but I did. And I was vicious as hell._

_Worse was, God forbid, Michael waking Nick up from his sleep, crying. I cried myself when I defended my baby from a tired C.S.I., trying to keep two people happy, but to no avail. I was stressed out, taking more pills than I really should, and losing my job fast. Last month, I finally quit, to the relief of everyone, and decided to move away. My relationship with Nick was not going to grow and mature, like I hoped it would. All I caused was more tension because of my pregnancy and the baby._

_I know that Nick and I love each other still, but at the same time, it's time to separate for the time being. Maybe, someday, we'll come back together. We'll be more mature then, maybe, and Michael will be older. We can handle a child together, if it can happen. Maybe we would marry, like we talked about. However, it's not on any agenda right now._

_Oh, to be young and careless…will it happen again? Yes, it will. In my heart, I know it will happen, somehow, somewhere…in a tragic time, when everybody will grief, bringing one and all back together again. It's sure to happen, I know it well._

_Don't ask me how I knew. I just do. And it will surely kill me in the process. I wasn't afraid of the future, I can saying, too. I am just too patient for it to happen. And I can wait. Oh, can I ever wait!_

_I will cry, I will laugh, I will live again. But nothing will replace the longing in my heart for all that is dear to me. Only one will come with me and only one will be held in my heart forever. And he sleeps peacefully next to me, not knowing of anything but when he will be cared for, knowing he will be loved by his mother._

_As __Francois Duc de la Rochefoucauld__ had said many years before: "__Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire." And I find it true, _very _true. I've left behind many people – most without a single farewell – and am now like the wind, making new pathways in Connecticut._

_What will the future hold for me and Michael? I don't know. But I'm most eager to know._

_For, as they all say, "In the Land of the Just, only the blind can see." And I follow it all blindly._


End file.
